Lêdo Ivo


Poor Folk at the Bus Station



Poor folk travel. At the bus station they crane their necks like geese to see the place-names on the buses. The look on their faces betrays their fear of losing something: the suitcase that holds a transitor radio and a coat of chilling drabness on a day without dreams, the mortadella sandwich at the bottom of their bag, and the suburban sunshine and dust beyond the viaducts. Amid the uproar of loud-speakers and the wheezing of buses they are seared of missing their connection hidden in a haze of time-tables. Some dozing on benches awaken with a start though nightmares are the privilege of those who fuel the hearing of bored psycho-analysts in rooms as antiseptic as the cotton-wool that plugs the nostrils of corpses. Standing in queues poor folk adopt a serious expression combining fear, impatience and submission. How grotesque poor folk are! And how their stench offends us even at a distance! They have no concept of social graces and no idea how to behave in public. A nicotine-stained finger rubs an itching eye that has nothing but matter to show for its dream. From a sagging swollen breast a trickle of milk drips into a tiny mouth familiar with tears. On the platform poor folk come and go, leaping and clutching baggage and parcels, they ask silly questions at the ticket offices, whisper mysterious words and gaze at magazine covers with the starfled look of someone who does not know the way to the threshold of life. Why all this coming and going? And those gaudy clothes, those yeflows reminiscent of palm oü that injure the delicate sight of passengers forced to endure so many unpleasant odours and those glaring reds one associares with a fun-fair or circus? Poor folk do not know how to travel or dress. Not even how to live: they have no concept of comfort although some even possess a television set. In truth, poor folk do not know how to die. (They invariably have a sordid, vulgar death) Throughout the world they are a nuisance, unwanted travellers who occupy our seats even when we are seated and they travel on foot.



Os Pobres na Estação Rodoviária Poema em Português

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