It doesn’t

Feel like friday night

All of those shivering days

Days of slow-walking

Hellos and goodbyes

How far are those heavy rags

Cold showers

And breakfasts

(Broke fast)

Differ from a night

Small sweet cake

Stuck between two concretes

Everyone looks at it

Everyone steps on it

All day when at night

Stars will blur out

And the wind from Atlantic

Bring all the smells and the tastes back

To its color and sweetness

That was taken by hate

Brown eyes

Looking straight through it

Frowning straight through it

Waiting for this day

Or night

Friday night

When the Atlantic will

Take with no fright

All the observed

And keep emptiness in it

That emptiness that will

Be celebrated

On that Friday night

With this bitter taste

Of the unfinished fight

April 2, 2021