For some of us, life during lockdown has sometimes seemed like one continuous screen session, interacting virtually with people we barely know. How strange, then, to read Paula Piedra’s poem about coming home to a TV screen filled with familiar faces, after a day spent among strangers.

Sure, there’s an American Dream

I like pretending,
I go out without make-up,
hair in my face,
wearing whatever clothes
to walk down some street
and arrive at a building.

There I am remunerated for doing nothing
and talking with people I don’t know
despite recognising their voices.

The conversations are over quickly,
more skimmed over, mechanically,
while time passes.

Eager for something to happen
after the working day,
I return home
and there – finally! –
I find familiar faces
on the television.

(Translated by Richard Gwyn)

Sí hay sueño americano

Me gusta disimular,
voy sin maquillaje,
el pelo en la cara,
con cualquier ropa
para andar por alguna calle
y llegar a un edificio.

Allí soy retribuida por no hacer nada
y hablar con personas que no conozco
a pesar de reconocer sus voces.

Las conversaciones transcurren rápido,
mecánicas, más repasadas
mientras pasa el tiempo.

Con ansias de que suceda algo,
después de la jornada,
regreso a casa.
Encuentro ¡al fin!
caras conocidas en la televisión.