Can you find poetry after discovering that the grandchild you feed and care for commits a horrible crime? Evidently yes. Poetry can be found everywhere, in an elderly disabled person prey to desires that are difficult to keep in check, in a ripe fruit fallen to the ground. Everywhere, except in vulgar "jokes": it's not possible there. Vulgarity cannot be poetic, says our kind and elegant protagonist, a lover of flowers and dressed in flowers. Throwing yourself into a world in decline, taking refuge in poetry, seems the only way to escape from an oppressive present time in which we are surrounded by ugliness, pettiness, violence, and sometimes we have them so close to us that we are surprised by them. Then there is nothing left to do but write a poem.
