Isabel

“Moth in the 1980s” The happy 80s went through my body the same as the moth in the closets ruining the silky material of a fabric, announcing that finally the wrinkle is beautiful. Hope put years on us quickly and the disappointment was plowing furrows over the skin like an engineering mite. Socialist Spain shot eagles that flew in the Orient square, burned a manifesto, renounced its creed, put on the tuxedo over the old corduroy jacket, linen was in style. And in cocktail parties they served the forgetfulness in tall glasses. Without knowing it, we stepped on the postwar years and their graves And under the shoes all the ground was blood on rugs of Kampuchea ricefields. Festive the 80´s, bitterness let its tarmac hibernate until the Olympic August. From the medals I stole the glory which I use to cover up my defeat.