but when my girlfriend decided to grow an avocado tree, I named him Maximilian I....
Nocturnal silence underneath the virgin forest.
Juarez, now the spearhead of, say, progress,
to his peons who never saw two pesos
distributes rifles in the dark of night.
Bolts start their clicking, while Juarez on squared paper
puts little crosses, ticking off each happy taker.
A gaudy parrot, one who never makes mistakes or
lies, sits on a bough and notes their plight:
Scorn for one's neighbor among those who sniff the roses
may be, not better, but more straight than civic poses.
But either thing gives quite a rise to blood and bruises.
Worse in the tropics, here, where death, alas,
spreads rather quickly in the way flies spread infection,
or as a bon mot in a cafe draws attention,
where three-eyed skulls among the thickets rate no mention;
in every socket—a clump of grass.
Joseph Brodsky in translation,