Fortuitous Poem by Roberto Bolano

“This is a big city, a real city,”
Said Chucho Flores.
“We have everything.
Factories, maquiladoras,
One of the lowest unemployment rates in Mexico,
A cocaine cartel,
A constant flow of workers from other cities,
Central American immigrants,
An urban infrastructure that can’t support the level of demographic growth.
We have plenty of money and poverty,
We have imagination and bureaucracy,
We have violance and the desire to work in peace.
There is just one thing we haven’t got,”
Said Chucho Flores.
Oil, thought Fate, but he didn’t say it.
“What don’t you have?” he asked.
“Time,” said Chucho Flores. “We haven’t got any fucking time.”