I meant to comment on those neighbors who didn’t want to talk about what went on in Allende’s house after...

...and ask whether there was some sort of unspoken pacto de olvido among the chilean bourgeoisie.

But I got confused and wrote something embarrassingly impressionistic...the closest I'd ever get to poetry. I mean, what was I supposed to do? My first copy of FGL's Romancero gitano was sitting right there in front of me.

I know we've seen him here recently, but today is the 110th anniversary of the poet's birth.