Back in Valparaíso, I find work
at the customs office, keeping track
of goods that arrive and depart on ships.
Boxes.
Bundles.
Sacks of grain.
Did I really win
a poetry competition?
Boring work leaves my mind free
to dream up articles that might be of interest
to newspapers.
When I write about sports, I’m told
that I express myself too clearly.
It’s not what we need, the editor informs me.
Those are the words every writer dreads,
but discouragement is never an option,
we all have to keep scribbling, or our voices
will vanish.