The pussy aching instead of the heart. She
has inside knowledge and before he strips off
knows whether to risk the after-effects of
taking postinor. When he asked do you want
to fuck, but didn’t follow through, she thought
that it was the prelude to real love:
picnicking together in the shade of pyramids, joint
ecstasies set to songs about ecstasies of candy
floss. She cried over the pope, but even more so
when he didn’t ask do you want to fuck a second
time. After just two drinks, he confesses to me:
the absence of pubic hair is an show of real class.
All deeper knowledge lies right on the surface.
A girl with a grazed knee. She wears leggings and a funny
strap, always loses at hopscotch. Cheats at cards
and board games. Prefers Roxette to cartoons, real
life stories to fairy tales. Once grown up, she wants to live
like they do on MTV or leg it in a truck. Fiercely clutching
fists stained with ink. She won’t let herself be pulled
to the other side of the mirror.
You finally look good naked, are the perfect
house wife, have an obedient dog and love
of the impossible kind.
And you get home from work and it seems the table cloth
is stained. What do you do?
And you get home from work and he has a new, improved
model wife, at no extra cost. What do you do?
And you get home from work and it is made of mere
dominoes and someone wants it demolished. What do you do?
A long break
We were sixteen and had no chance
of surviving. Fucking carpe diem
and adulthood like a freshly discovered tumour;
I kept repeating: more, and Janis Joplin never
sang as well as she did in 2002.
Mick Jagger hung around Marianne Faithfull.
We both woke a few years later, on an operating
table. Studying law and the culinary
arts, doing all those well to do
things: occasional alcohol, sex three times
a week, with a regular partner. I kept repeating:
quicker, it’s on in a minute.
A surrogate world
Suddenly, we’ve run out of reasons
why we should stay alive. If it happened
more often, we’d probably die or at least surrender
to some pleasant addiction, like: porcelain
elephants, overseas trips, fat-free diets.
A. also advises we draw up a table and carefully note
all the pros and cons. This is how far a wrongly
engaged imagination can take you, when you fill blanks
with: take the dog for a walk, graduate, become a god
mother. Without a point. The point elsewhere.
We are kept afloat by the thought that it’ll be fun,
numerous surprises promised as encore.
translated by Marek Kazmierski
Joanna Dziwak – (born 1986) – has had her verse published in numerous literary publications (including “Akcent”, “Czas Kultury”, “Portret”), her début collection “sturm&drang” appeared at the end of 2010. She also translates German poetry, mainly Bertolt Brecht. She is studying philosophy, lives in Krakow.
|Joanna Dziwak – (ur.1986) – publikowała wiersze w wielu pismach literackich (m.in. „Akcent”, „Czas Kultury”, „Portret”), jej debiutancka książka “sturm&drang” ukazała się pod koniec 2010 roku. Tłumaczy również poezję niemieckojęzyczną, głównie Bertolta Brechta. Studiuje filozofię, mieszka w Krakowie.|