The Secret

the doctor is soccer referee
he scoops full-of-puss ankle
and whistles
penalties
in my brain
(in this game applause comes later)
the bacillus is a ball made of rags
on the pitch
of my skeleton
I can’t score a goal
and mother shouts goal
not to break
her maidenhood knick-knack
but she abandoned me
in a sanatorium
the nurse brings the bedpan
the chamber-pot to my bed
sometimes
when less busy
she sends me letter
ending
,,we just can’t wait to see you again
and lots of kisses from me”
but I don’t believe her
I know she doesn’t want me
to soil her sheet with puss and blood again
her spotless house
populated by father
who looks at me
as if I was a lathe
refuse

I wonder
is she knows I was playing with myself
or it just occurred
to me





Traducerea Petru Iamandi