Leaning against the wall, tapping my belt, I’m waiting
For my woman
To come out of the shop with a bag full of candy and beer
Like a black swan arching her neck in the red sun
Through my shades comrades with  hands glued to the handle bars
Are passing by, raving their engines
Beards are fluttering and fringes stretching like wings.
Their women are showing their finger, one hand grasping like a chain
The chest of the riders.
There she is, kicking the stones with her foot,
Like a daughter of hell, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
I shall bite her neck, with my hand in her hair,
Like a scorpion above the tarantula.
And she knows, by the way I stand and watch.
She throws the bag in the dust and it bounces.
The oranges roll over, one by one,
And the tea box bursts open, a scorpion comes out of it,
Crawling over the stones.
I shall squash it with my foot, while biting her mouth.
I shall signal her: get on!
And on one wheel only I shall steer the devil away
Leaving behind
The lights of the petrol station.