an afternoon

when an emphysema-coughing bird
will finally stop making noises,
& shoe-polished fat fly
will stop fiercely fighting
w/the dirty window.

when the neighbor will finish
his warm beer & stick cigarette butt
into the bottle.
& the next-door sixteen years old girl
in the yellow flip-flops
will plunge into the backyard pool.

only then I’ll open my eyes
unglue myself from the soaked
in my sweat chair,
pleasantly shut the laptop.
I’ll roll the Consumer Report,
smack the fat fly with.
relieving it from it’s
pointless uneventful everymen’s life.

I will make myself a cup of
dark,
aromatic,
Turkish,
coffee.
– slowly drink it,
burning my tongue, my mouth.

&when the sun will be
eighteen minutes above the horizon,
I will turn the evening on,
fine-tune a light breeze,
and spice up the air w/the cooking dinner meals.
children laughs,
tired passing buses bleat,
& kissing couples.

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2 thoughts on “an afternoon

  1. this is very ironical in many points, the contrast of the day versus the evening. normally onces eyes begin to close in the evening or night, here you speak of yours opening as though you are finally coming alive for the day, when the day is ended. that last stanza was beautiful.

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