Good night, Mister

Mister,
I listen to you in wonderment-
the cars, the money, the fame,
your tale is so fascinating,
that I am trapped by your face,
where in place of your eyes
there are two large black holes,
in which you lose entirely yourself,
your smile, the white teeth
flashing with a freezing radiance,
the suit, your polished nails…
You charm me…

Mister,
you’ve mistaken the game,
this one, that you play,
is as old as life itself,
you’ve forgotten its name
or have never known it,
we used to play it in our childhood –
which kid is stronger,
better looking, has more decals
or marbles, or a nicer diary.
You probably used to collect comics
and you’ve traded them for friendship
and have been gorgeous, awesome, big?

Mister,
back then I collected bruises.
Later I gathered shabby sheets,
broken hearts, the remains of my soul,
betrayals, dreams, good words
and bad words, with which I fed my anger,
worn out shoes, blisters,
ice, which watered down too quickly
my hopes for salvation of the the human race,
wolf howls, faith and moans of love.

Mister,
I can show you my scars,
my thin ankles, bitten by dogs,
my back, furrowed by passion,
my breasts, heavy with milk,
the knots on my hams
from the thousands of miles walked,
to find myself…

Something strange happened to your eyes, Mister…
and to your charming smile…
You’re leaving already?
You have an appointment early in the morning?
Good night, Mister…

©Ivet Aleksandrova

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