Bow to the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Putrescence. Boo. Boo. Rubbish. Filth. Slime. Muck. Boo. Boo. Boo.
Your play, Charlie.

 

El Rio de los Remedios
 
In the squirming midst of la Gran Ciudad  
       (mass of raza)
lies the river
       (and I say "lies" because that's what she is . . .
       named by the devil himself --
       for he calls things what they are not)
and she oozes every
kind of remedy
that no one ever wanted
       - a remedy for health
       - a remedy for progress
       - a remedy for solidarity
       - a remedy for hope

Then came the new Narcissus
       (so much better than last year's model . . .
       loved by all and freshly heralded --
       dreams awash with progress and salvation)
to rest on her bleeding banks
to stare into her putrid past
to tell her he was different from
the long line of liars who
laughed upstream.
But as he gazed into her fetid, semi-solid mirror,
he saw his predecessors.

He saw what they were
but she told him what they were not.
He saw what he was
but she told him what he was,

       naught.

And he loved her lies.

So, with a deep breath
and a wily smile,
he pitched forward
into her corruption
and slipped below
the murky surface.

 

Author's Note:  El Rio de los Remedios (The River of Remedies) is a drainage canal of waste water (read "open sewage") that flows through the northern part of Mexico City.  This poem is about no one in particular -- only the sad march of corrupt officials that the country has endured.