Translated by Dessyslava Nicolova

 

It`s five o`clock after midnight

and the bars are empty

like the pockets of a ragged pair of

trousers discarded on the dumpster,

taxis rush past – yellow demons

with green or bloodred eyes –

crushing cold cigarette butts

while faces with smeared makeup try to fall asleep

without looking in the mirror,

 

a suicide creeps

into the room downstairs

with the walk of a double-crossed waiter,

his shoulder`s black against the curtains

and then

the light goes off.

 

FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME

 

For the umpteenth time

the hotel room

is empty.

 

The door swings open

and the shadow of the maid

walks in.

While she makes

the messy double bed

she thinks to herself –

it`s not easy to change the sheets

of other people`s happiness

but you get used to it in time

and besides

there`s always something

left behind –

a forgotten book

on the night table

a lighter

by the ashtray

or a piece of

bitter chocolate.

 

WHEN THERE`S NO SNOW

OR

THE SOLIDIFICATION OF CHILDHOOD

 

When there`s no snow

games tend to change –

instead of snowmen

we build memorials

instead of snowballs

we throw stones

the sleds

turn to

terrifying

rollercoasters

and when we fall

it`s not snow angels

we leave behind

but gravestones