El Ventito 96

Route fourteen at noon,

forty souls aboard, one vent.

One seat below the heaven

where the frozen angels went.

Doña Carmen takes no prisoners,

she boards it like a war

— she has an ice-cold neck by twelve-fifteen and we melt against

the door.

The cold seat! (The cold seat!) Blessed of all the bus!

(All the bus!) One vent for forty sinners — today it won't

be us! (Won't be us!)

I got it once in August,

brothers, I will not exaggerate: for thirty minutes I was young again.

I forgave my brother-in-law.

I understood the sea.

Then my stop arrived.

I stayed aboard three more.

Some things matter more than being where you're going.

The cold seat! (The cold seat!) Blessed of all the bus!

Tomorrow, Carmen.

Tomorrow the throne is mine.