the light diving onto the asphalt
wetted by rain last night
outlines small white areas among puddles

“Love is all around” on the radio
your hand on a cheek
and the red sun through the windshield

nothing moves up
past the shiny garbage
of the metropolis

and your fingers slowly move down
except for the middle one
which points out
towards the indecent city
towards its inert
and beautifully polished vehicles