A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


Such a shame the pato moniker stuck
because of your wingtip hands-up;
el balon, she ricochets aceitoso
off your Teflon torso, and your checkpoint-
splits sentinel defense mechanism.
Nothing harder to forget than an apodo
given by children and menace consorts.
You braved Naranja Mecanica in '78
which must have been like keeping dry
a dam of pins over a waterbed berth,
like plugging gash with miniscule
prehensil fingers. On defensive display
your torso spreads flaps, grand zones
of vortex control, where balon finds
pero zero currency. With River Plate's
Millionaires you brokered seven victories:
four on the Buenos Aires floor
and three national spots.(After
18 years of wandering through the woods
you bring River Plate a national title
and how do they pay you back: they lose
you due to financial complications to Racing).
So you do your thing and transfer to Flamengo
in Brasil and eventually Atletico de Madrid
to build up prodigal points perhaps but more
so to prevent River from winning the title
once you came back to Argentina for Racing.
Then you trained the next seat of arqueros
for Racing because they showed you love
when your colors turned on you because of loot.

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