him that my
sad situation overwhelms me,
for I have been only
a Manager-Collector
for three whole years;
so profoundly do I suffer,
so profoundly do I wait
for them to regale me
with a pen set, and not a broom.
I would beg that they recall
how many years past
I did request the post
which today I learned was filled;
let them know
these hopes of mine
have been dashed;
and my joys have been drained
because of that yearned-for post;
let them know
that from my precipice
the future blackens deeply.
At night, when I ponder,
(with my soul thrashing),
how others so easily do find
their station rising,
and their wages plentiful,
yet they work hardly at all,
it does spur me to ponder matters,
and in the end, my luck depleted,
I recall that another day
slaving behind the broom awaits me.
I grasp how that job
never shall be mine,
never shall I earn
those 80 pesos;
however, I do persist,
and in promotions I believe;
today cruel fate
may show me his black shoulder,
yet instead of being less trustful,
I am all the more hopeful.
At times I think of flinging
my eternal “I quit”
in the faces of the cursed
feather duster and perfidious broom!
And yet if all is in vain,
if I have no exit hence,
if the bill collectors
finish me off,
what else do they ask
that I do in such a circumstance?
Here we see an account of Facundo’s economic situation, which was that of all of his family, as well as the majority of the incipient middle class in Sonora. That class got by on stoic hope — a feature of Northern Mexico’s Protestant-like ethic, which insisted that hard work would eventually lead to material results. This poem bears proof of Facundo’s poetic skill and sense of humor, his empathy for his fellow citizens, and his tendency to use — and ironize — his own life experiences as subject matter. Thanks to this poem, Facundo obtained his own promotion:
And I who so attempted
to earn a decent wage,
then sport a good suit
and lavish gifts on my sweetheart,
even just by saving what “Smith” charges
for fees, well… I could
pay what’s needed to those
necessary, despite a month
of being unemployed…
How sweet it would be
to live while preying
on a juicier paycheck;
The English pleased,
I, always, satisfied,
without seeking their bosses,
saying, in spite,
I have only a few days left,
for the love of the God.
Just realize how exquisite
these brief hours of life prove,
how beautiful proves existence
with a job like that,
and I dreamed of such
“oh, deceitful fate,” and,
while maddened, I would think
(my soul trembling),
I would think of making myself old,
here, just for now.
Lord knows
that was my most splendid dream,
my glowing hope,
my bliss and pleasure;
God well knows it was not in vain
that I pinned my efforts
(I say this although they
smash my soul with a log)
on how to live bare-bones
just like I did yesterday.
That was my hope…
Oh, Seductive Open Positions,
scant help
exists between you two;
Adieu
My Benefactors,
Feather Duster and Shower Stall, and My Broom: Adieu.
Facundo’s
