Paper Rebellion

The north wind sweeps the city,
dirtying up the sidewalks, streets,
and the air of this July
faded in a rose of lapacho flowers
and imprecise mists
of other winters that did not dare
to freeze our hope
nor did it stir us up
in some dreamed-about spring.
With the same indolence
that in those distant winters
forever erased from our eyes,
the north wind continues sweeping the city.

She felt hungry when she woke up in the morning
and she bled a few days a month.
She was a kindergarten teacher,
she liked clothing of a discrete and refined luxury,
and she wanted to spend Christmas with her sons.
She was only a woman.

She had loved a man to the point of anguish,
to the point of exhaustion,
and perhaps she was beginning to love again.
She had two sons, William and Harry,

and she fought for them.
She caressed the foreheads of those suffering with AIDS
and those mutilated in the war.
She was only a woman.

One day, without realizing it,
she passed the test of the most difficult casting,
believing that so alone she was marrying
the man who loved her,
feeling like a princess from a fairy tale,
like any other woman.
The members of the jury declared:
"She's perfect, from the blue of her eyes
and that singular elegance in her clothes,
to that who-knows-what
of not giving herself any importance
and going on
as though she were swallowing a hidden sadness.
They did a few market studies,
a definition of their target group,
a scent test, a pilot test,
a marketing plan for short and long-term results,
total merchandising, minutely detailed.
And the experts all confirmed
the unobjectable quality of the product.

She was not a hamburger,
and more, they packaged her with the same skill,
she was promoted in a multimedia campaign,
with a profusion of labels, benefit campaigns,
soirees and tournaments
signed photographs

and televised kisses for a superstation.
She was just a woman.

The debut was a round success.
Sales shot to the skies,
ratings blew out the surveys
and the trust bought fifty banks.
Then the President said:
"The greatest success is reached
if the exact moment
is determined.
This is the moment.
He contracted the best scriptwriters,
the most coveted producers
and technical editors.
He told them to work on the book:
"The Princess Who Loved Too Much"
to develop it out
the ultimate denouement,
of course, with whatever expenses there might be,
to be completely covered.

She was not a character from a soap opera,
but she worked with the creative staff and the makeover artists
who achieved the effect, airily
without her even noticing the magnitude of the investment...
causing perhaps a growing dislike
- a medium crescendo --
for not being able to kiss her fiance alone.

But the agony seemed -- at last --
to have ended

and she wanted to rediscover the streets and the people,
the color of life and the tremors of her blood.
When she believed that, thanks to indiscrete glances,
she could love again,
they launched the ultimate operation
with their arsenal of the most sophisticated lenses
putting their scanners on target
and with shots prepared to break all the records.

She was not a hamburger
nor a character from a soap opera.
She loved her sons
and she fought for them.
She was only a woman.

With admirable precision they took her
to that tunnel
baptized by the magistrate, "Tunnel of Love"....
Midnight in Paris, the location the best of the best,
dramatic color, perfect,
and in a thunderous second, the operation was done with.
The Director gave a thumbs-up with a big smile
and said: "Cut."