White-faced Youth
The Victrola played steadily.
Beside it sat
A white-faced youth, with a battered hat
Aslant on his frowsy, dishevelled head.
Obviously, he wished he were dead.
He sat hunched over, staring at the wall
With eyes that saw no wall at all.
With half of one large foot he kept
The music's rhythm.
He wept.
The record played on.
Each time it ended,
He would look up startled: greatly offended.
He would then rise
With streaming eyes.
Carefully,
With a face of pain,
He would start the same tune over again.
Juventud de Rostro Pálido
La Victrola tocaba sin parar.
A su lado estaba
Un joven de rostro pálido, con un sombrero desgastado
Inclinado sobre su desaliñada cabeza.
Obviamente, deseaba estar muerto.
Permanecía encorvado, mirando fijamente la pared
Con ojos que no veían la pared en absoluto.
Con la mitad de un gran pie mantenía
El ritmo de la música.
Lloraba.
El disco seguía sonando.
Cada vez que terminaba,
Miraba sorprendido: muy ofendido.
Entonces se levantaba
Con los ojos llorosos.
Con cuidado,
Con un rostro de dolor,
Reiniciaba la misma melodía una y otra vez.