Burdened with doubts about her condition, the nation decided to go to a poet's office to be examined. She arrived at the office and the first thing she did was to sprawl on the waiting stool and prune her dirty fingernails with her teeth.

With password in hand she waited her turn to be served by the poet. It took the poet, who was an expert in analyzing states of nations, forever to slice off his doorknob and let the nation in. There was bribery, the nation slipped an envelope with a note under the poet's door, the doorknob unfolded, the hinges bowed, and the door opened.

Burdened with doubts about her condition, the nation decided to go to a poet's office to be examined.

When the nation entered the room to be observed, it found the poet drowned in a huge dictionary; his glasses hooked on his ears floated like two stethoscope beans. "If you please," babbled the poet inside the dictionary, his voice heard in the form of exploding bubbles.

The poet slowly came out of the huge dictionary; first it was the few hairs he had that peeked out of the dictionary, then came the forehead overflowing the front of his head, then it was the eyes stuffed into the aquarium of the glasses, then it was the nose, and then it was the lips that garnished an army of molars. The poet got out the dictionary, disinfected his dirty hands, and ordered the nation to lay naked on the stretcher.

Naked, naked, as we do not know her, the nation lay down to be examined by the poet. She felt ashamed to show the poet parts of her body that even television didn't have the courage to film. He made a small cloth with his hands and covered his shame. The doctors examined the state of people and the poet looked after the state of the nation.

Naked, naked, as we do not know it, the nation lay down to be examined by the poet.

Of course, the nation had already advanced its problems to the poet; it spoke of kidnappings of blood that its age could not redeem, of the subsidies of tears that occupied the joy of its eyes, of its tension with its deviant bottom, of its bumpy skin and the insurgency that every day exploded in its heartbeat. Calmly the poet went about examining the nation as it went on and on exposing its problems.

Of course, the nation had other serious problems; it had thousands of little stones sitting on the kidney wall like unemployed youths, it had a blood clot diverted and hidden by some vein, its lungs with oxygen in debt, and it had a belly full of the yeast of hunger and poverty...

Of course, the nation had other serious problems

The poet measured the fever of the nation with a thermometer of metaphors, dipped himself in the dictionary again for minutes, picked up his journal of verse, and wrote "the state of the nation is one of self-overcoming."