Stefan Ivanov

- - -
daily tasks

push the dresser against the wall

hang the laundry

open the window

and air out the paint and varnish fumes

because the dizziness is unbearable

turn on the oven

mackerel with walnuts and tomato sauce

put on some music as company

or better yet the tv as my interlocutor

I turn off the oven

I set plates for the ghosts

which reminds me

to take out the trash

the toothbrushes in the bathroom

used to be four

now three

two

and the last one

won’t have anyone

to mourn it

 

 

- - -
the tired death

for andrey platonov

 

the boy

whose father drowned

whose mother died years earlier

one hungry morning

by the light of the boulevard

packed with cars

understood

that time is a journey

from his mother

to foreign cities and brothels

the boy saw

rubbed his red eyes

they moved away from the billboard

and the giant smiles of women in bras

saw objects things substances

saw time

the movement of sorrow

in torn shoes with no laces

understood

the slowing of days

felt the rot

smelled the useless trash

of crushed dogs and pigeons

understood and smiled

too sad

unable

to only die

once

and spat

between the eyes

of the capital

 

 

- - -

gritting teeth

hey kid

don’t you fucking tell me

let me tell you

you got it

don’t be an idiot

or I’ll get your entire family I’ll kill all of you

you children of divorced parents

pimply dumb useless and fat

I’ll break your glasses I’ll put you on the stadium

I’ll drown you in the mud I’ll pickle you for winter

I am sick of whining

there’s no money for theater for movies for books

I got five jobs

payments for my car

I eat a cucumber a day

I don’t have time to look at anything

and I don’t need money

why do you need money

don’t be smart with me or I’ll twist your neck

I don’t care

you know how many people have died before my eyes how many people lost their minds

now I’m doing surgery on mongooses with a hernia

fuck you

there’s no money and the state won’t provide

sissies

the mongooses don’t whine

even when their guts hang out

and you’re trying to teach me how to flush

just shut up

 

 

- - -
farewell

it’s monday morning

the woman walks down the stairs

goes without make up or the mirror

doesn't care what she looks like

if the children are fed

logic is a broken cup

with dry coffee stains

the woman gets on a kid’s bike

in her bathrobe

quits the cooking and the solitaire

doesn’t notice people looking

the wind opens her robe

what is she thinking

she avoids the alleys

the morning sun lights up

her breasts her belly her underwear

she ignores traffic lights

can she get away with it

the tint of her skin changes

from a dense pink to red

the traffic jam doesn’t bother her

she leaves the cars behind

closes her eyes

the men stare uncomprehending

open their silent mouths and stumble

the woman grips the steering wheel

the men stare they finish

with broad strokes and bold colors

the paintings of their absence

they are generous with themselves

they don’t spare anything

they don’t understand

in the end

why she left