Let soldiers stand for violence.
Let the suburbs stand for childhood.
Let paella stand for love.
Let zero stand for death.
So: the soldiers invaded the suburbs
looking for precious metals, gold like paella.
They found nothing.
Again. The suburban housewife
fed the interred soldiers black ink paella,
therefore they laughed and came onto her
in their own language, ate until the plates
were empty, their mouths satisfied holes.
Make the variables dance:
by the third day the paella
was up to the rooftops.
The government helicoptered in the navy,
but by then it was too late:
the inhabitants were dead,
as far as the eye (that glass wheel) could see,
an ocean of saffron-infused rice.
Now for the proof.