© 2018 Varga Júlia

Poems I.

Pink Rubber Sack

My body is a pink
rubber sack.
I let you put your
hard parts in it –
and by hard I mean
your thoughts feelings and
words
which can’t change shape.
Fortunately my pink
rubber sack is elastic so
your hard parts won’t cut
out the surface of it
from the inside.
I can wrap it around your
neck when you are cold
and I can hide it in your
pocket when you are
leaving.
I can erase dots from
any surface
and I can blow it as
a pink bubble to
fill up a room.
My body is a pink
rubber sack in which I
can carry your mom’s heritage
all the money we try to
spend and those hardly
readable
files I write.
My body is a pink rubber sack.
It does stretch but it doesn’t tear.

*

Need

I need you  – and
I am so tired of
shouting this too
many times into the far
distance where my
unmotivated brain cells
are having a small
gathering – nothing fancy,
just a casual party – and as
my voice reaches them
they just twinkle to
each other and turn to
me like this: We are all
aware of the fact of our
necessity but, right now,
all we need is that bottle
of vodka, you know.
And I do know.

*

Jealousy

Jealousy is such a
talented, virtuosic
musician.
It plays masterpieces
on my ribs
dictates unbelievable
beats with my finger and
it rolls my eyes like drumsticks.
Skilled as a natural-born
genius
it is jamming on those
sensitive strings of
my brain and on the
chords of my guts
and shaking my knees as
a maraca.
Sings in high-pitched
voice to my ears in a
language I don’t speak
but understand
and press a microphone-like
something down my
throat.
It buys a bottle of whiskey and
spreads it to anyone near
snores some coke and
fucks at least once after a show.
It leaves its war-weary
instruments lying around
and always neglect to
collect the fee.
Jealousy is terrible but
overwhelming one-man band
with a multi-channel
loop-pedal.
But, as it is also unlucky,
I am the manager. And I won’t book
any gig.

 

 

 

 

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