When I Return From War

/, Blesok no. 98/When I Return From War

When I Return From War

When I Return From War
Try This, Dear Wagner
My People
A Little Man in a Little Town
Morning in Mahallah
People"s Revolution Boulevard
About a Certain Faraway War

Now, awaiting my thirtieth birthday,
I can never get rid of the depression,
because I still don’t understand baseball.

I wasn’t born an insect.
I cannot forgive my mother for that.
There is no efficient poison spray
for my kind.

I don’t listen to the radio anymore.
Everyday on the shortwave God gets
reborn as a voodoo doll
in the hands of a Nazi war criminal.

I can barely stand
the hysterical yoga practitioners.
They have found meaning. They live stress-free.
My ass!

Bing Crosby, the Christmas torture,
I cannot think of enough disparaging terms
for all the bullshit humanity falls for.

I should be listening to Wagner,
but I cannot find any Wagner on my computer.

A woman will take my last name.
Our kids will be figurehead angels.

I will bring them handfuls of juicy, ripe oranges.
The house will smell of olive oil.

I would love to be perfect like the sea.

AuthorMarko Tomaš
2018-08-21T17:23:49+00:00 November 2nd, 2000|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 98|0 Comments