A HOMELESS BEFORE THE RESTAURANT WINDOW: / BESKUĆNIK PRED PROZOROM RESTORANA
What’s that in the glass?
An air terrified of wind, a space without error
I look at them how perfect they are,
desiring to stay there forever If only,
eating is an emotional act, and the food they are chewing
feels good to my tongue:
I wait for them, I, their horror of life,
with a cat in my lap
which can jump in a way that her feet
can hook up the car top and a smaller town,
and for a moment everything gets tense and wild
A young woman inside brings me a glass of tea,
she approaches me as the tiger is approached with meat
Her belly lets the sound
of an animal craving for fur
The air between us is for a moment vibrant from the steam
and, I know, I have to throw the tea in her face
because I need a cry to break up the scene
to fit the question perfectly:
Where is the milk,
are you saying we are not in England?
Oops, all the caked whiteness is hanging over the city,
they say, Christmas decorations – I think:
too much cheesecake, horror of cow,
her humble contribution to death