Hundreds of times
I have passed through Dobova.
That first place that you see
when you’re crossing the Croatian-Slovenian border by train.
That first sign that you are indeed
leaving somewhere, that first milestone
that will also on the way back
inform you that you have in fact arrived someplace.
Purgatory, if it really exists
probably looks like Dobova.
A little girl with a bucket full of milk.
Haystacks scattered across neatly trimmed pastures
calmly waiting for dusk.
At times something surreal
appears outside of your compartment
sticky with nicotine filled smoke.
A customs officer spreads himself
across the passenger seats
ready for a little nap en route to Zagreb.
The street where the first ever
porn cinema opened in Ljubljana in the ex-State
where having spent six months clad in the olive-green
uniform of the former federal army
I took two fellows from Gorski Kotar
to see American 80s porno diva
doing double penetration in “Room-mates”.
The village graveyards on timid hillsides
coated in winter evening mist.
One day I am going to get off that train
and fall asleep on a bench
of that little train stop of Dobova.
And if I ever wake up again maybe you’ll see me
waving at you from a platform
with both hands.