Pedro’s flute

Pedro, Pedro
What do you have in your flute?
Is there a little boy who lost his mother,
and is running all around the town,
bare feet slapping the wet cobblestone?

Pedro, Pedro
Tell me what do you have in your flute?
Is that a soft moaning
of a young girl, pregnant at 16
thrown out of her house
now living in the public park
behind the toilets?

Pedro, Pedro
Tell me what do you have in your flute?
Wonder how you blow
a stump of a plastic pipe
and how it comes alive into a flute
a flute with no eye or ear or mouth
whistling,
now crying, now singing
whistles that turn into small needle arrows
arrows that sting
sting even the hearts of the owls
owls who have hair in their ears.

Pedro, Pedro
Tell me what do you have in your flute?
Is that whistle in the hinges of the window
the cry of the young girl?
Or is that the breathing of the little boy
who is now tired and sleeping
at the police station?

Pedro, Pedro
tell me what do you have in your flute?

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