Hanged
is the jacket
from the day
of the disgrace.
He said
I was raising
m voice
and that there was
nothing left
to do.
On the street
it was Summer.
A real Summer.
One of those
that melt
the asphalt.
He told me
I had left
the jacket
hanging
on the chair.
The melted tar.
The heat
wouldn’t let me
go back.
A Brief Life 