by Daniel de Culla
Tiburcio is my lifelong friend.
My name is Policarpo.
We even went together
To the Conciliar Seminary of Segovia
Where we were studying
Until the day they caught us together
In my messy room
Masturbating while singing:
“Cobs at the dorsal of the Cob
Where the hundred and twenty are.”
We are from a town that has already been emptied
Between Sepúlveda and Pedraza:
“Cagaspurcio de la Sierra”
In the Community of Castilla y León
Of half-houses about to be demolished
Whose feast day was August 11th
For Saint Tiburcio.
It is one of the only towns
That doesn’t have a church
But it does have a chapel
Which, now, is in its foundations
Dedicated to the Count of Monte Cristo
We don’t know why.
I think it was
Because next to the Missal was found
A copy of “The Count of Monte Cristo,”
An adventure novel by Alexandre Dumas.
It’s high up on a hill
In the shape of a skull
Around it
A few holes where in the past
We would go to relieve ourselves
The townspeople
And some strangers who came
To sell us things or greet us
And that’s why it was known
As “Cantalapiedra” (StoneSings)
Or “Skull of Diarrhea.”
We would go up there to relieve ourselves
With newspapers
And a bucket of water
Taken from the only fountain “Babilafuente”
Next to the road that takes us to Pedraza
Which brought us water from the Duratón river.
The town has half a square.
The road that leads to the hermitage
Is called the “Road of Silver and Gold”
Like the one the Moor of Granada defecated
For there’s a monolith next to the hermitage
That looks like Boabdil’s tear
That they say a Moor from Granada brought
A vassal of the 1st Count of Monterrey
A hardened fucker
Who, at times, would put a mace
Or a weight on his tail
To avoid fucking like a donkey.
A vassal who could be heard reciting
While defecating, sighing:
–Here, in this oratory of defecation
I leave the keys to the Alhambra
Looking toward the door of the Threshold
Or the town cemetery
Hoping to see Boabdil again
His wife Morayma and his son Ahmed.
The Moor’s sigh
That Tiburcio and I heard
While happily defecating day after day.
In the village, the only souvenirs
Or mementos you could take home
Were dried dog or cat droppings.
Tiburcio, to liven things up
Had a happy idea:
To dig at the highest point of Cantalapiedra
A hole the size of a bucket
Where he would bring
The donkeys left for him in the village to pee.
Once it was full
He would announce it from house to house
Throughout the village
Like a first-class constable
Announcing it this way:
-Boys and girls
Today, at twelve noon
Come to Stonesings.
You will see a waterfall
Worthy of the Monastery of Piedra
Which will make this town of ours famous
Which has little to tell.
At twelve o’clock
Thirteen or fourteen boys and girls
Came, happy, to see the waterfall
Tiburcio, trying hard
To dig the hole with a shovel
Walking barefoot
Over the falling urine
(Urine that, one day
Healed a callus on his big toe
On his right foot)
Making the children laugh
With all their might, exclaiming:
“Tiburcio is a falsetto!”
“Tiburcio is a falsetto!”
© 2026 Daniel de Culla All rights reserved.
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