Pour Homme

de la uşă ţi-arunci paloşul,
scutul, biletul de tramvai
apoi haina cu umerii lăsaţi
ca doua bariere de tren întîrziat

azi ai pierdut o bătălie
cu tine însuţi
inamicul tău favorit
şi de ciudă
vei bea cu el
din cel mai mare pocal
găsit în dulap

veţi face contrabandă cu amintiri ilegale
(aparţinînd unor foşti colegi de birou)
şi veţi cînta împreună
imnuri şi cîntece de luptă
vă veţi privi victoriile trecute
cu mîndrie
ca pe nişte capete de cerbi împăiaţi
apoi vei adormi

în jilţul tău
în castelul tău
pe planeta ta
observat atent de organisme vii
cu gene lungi

Sunday logic

As words flutter in my head
into a Brownian motion
the meaning of that thought
waves good-bye to the second

(so
does
the
poem).

I am once more
forced to intoxicate myself
with the most deluding and reassuring fact
that it did not matter

(which
is
probably
nothing).

worth living for

one day I'll die
(probably young enough to remember)

and all those people
I never heard from
in years
will rush over
to say what a great person
I really was

that I used to be such
a laugh
that I liked to drink G&T
at the end of the day
Grolsch at weekends
and Baileys at Xmas

that I always found my way home
after long nights
in Tiger Tiger

that I was such a loving Mum
taking my kids to school
and McDonald’s
and never sending them out
to get cigarettes
after 10.30 PM

that I only cheated on my
significant others
a few times
and even then
I didn't really mean it

that I had beautiful eyes
which never cried but
always carried a glimmer
of hope

After the Lunch by Wendy Cope