I’ve never known the tenants in my life.
I haven’t know when they come, when they go,
in what undisclosed season they put their misfortunes to rest.
Women have left this body slamming the door
complaining about my sadness,
on some occasions they have complained about dampness,
of intense cold, of some strange mildew in the pantry.
The tenants in my life always leave without paying
and the patio is once again abandoned
in this roadhouse where it’s always nighttime.