My name is José, I am Catholic and I was not a plainclothes policeman very long. In Argentina I wrote poetry and prayed to the Virgin every day for my mother who was a cancerous balloon grounded in the chicken shack behind the house and for my two sisters who tap-tapped their way past my window every hour drowned in lipstick and sperm. Here is one of my poems in translation:

Every day is a long hallway to death
Every night is an agony of lightning
My heart lies in pieces at your feet
My poor heart is a trampled field
Bring down the rain, Mother of God