La Iaia
Una iaia puja a l'autobús,
porta bambes, xandall lila i un tatuatge arran del cul,
ungles llargues, jaqueta de cuir,
imperdibles a l'orella i a la cella quatre punts.
Fuma i balla sempre rock'n'roll,
pensa que la vida es llarga
i un dia no és prou per a res.
Mai no calla, veu whisky escocès,
a les nits se'n va de marxa amb la colla del seu nét.
Renegant entre les dents, fent gestos,
a la mà papers escrits, són versos.
Puja el "novio", un vell geperut,
té els cabells com llana blanca
i els ulls blaus són mars del sud.
Seuen junts, dos cossos en fan un,
llengua a fons fins la "garganta",
els seients ja treuen fum.
I de sobte l'autobús arrenca,
s'ha acabat el rock'n'roll, tot canvia.
Renegant entre les dents, fent gestos
dos pistoles a les mans i els versos.
Per la ruta de l'infern anem presos.
Bandolers d'un altre temps. S'acaba.
The Grandma
A grandma gets on the bus,
Wearing sneakers, a lilac tracksuit, and a tattoo on her butt,
Long nails, leather jacket,
Pins on her ear and four dots on her eyebrow.
She smokes and always dances rock'n'roll,
Thinks life is long
And one day is not enough for anything.
She never stays quiet, drinks Scotch whiskey,
At night she goes out partying with her grandson's gang.
Muttering between her teeth, making gestures,
In her hand, papers written, they are verses.
Her 'boyfriend' gets on, an old long-haired man,
His hair like white wool
And his blue eyes are southern seas.
They sit together, two bodies become one,
Tongue deep down to the 'throat',
The seats already smoking.
And suddenly the bus starts,
The rock'n'roll is over, everything changes.
Muttering between her teeth, making gestures,
Two guns in their hands and the verses.
On the route to hell we are taken.
Bandits from another time. It's over.