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On bed I was recalling when, as a conservative houseboy, I first smiled realizing my parents had been in love.
Only then when a valiant rat weaseled his way through my jeans.
The cold denim obstructed my punches, which nonetheless brought his demise.
It was dead early and the sound of my vomit awakened mía madre.
Either it was the sound of retching or the brown fluid splashing on the ceramic.
O, ma mère, O, meine Mutter, I said,
Let me now sleep and we'll see when I wake onto a different reality.