Sta.sh
there was a boy, i met,
whose father studied
rocks. and his father never
loved him as much
as fossils, he told me.
it seems that history
always defeats us.
we shared some dreams. this boy,
and i,
when we stared in
shop windows
and he offered to buy me a
diamond. or a cup of
coffee. and i said
'no.'
his father spoke to me
about dustbowls and
visiting
strauss.
in vienna.
when i was dressed in his
son's pajamas, he read one of
my poems. and we were
smoking.
it was raining that
night. and it was cold, so
we
sat by the fire. and the boy
never read my poems.
and he
left the room, five times. watching
us as he ate some
noodles i
cooked for them.
but back to ramadan. back to
ramadan. because he hated
his father.
& he hated his father's jew
nose, that he had
given him
and his jew books, & his
jew words
and his
father's jew fists
smashing his mother's
face.
he liked the poem. and after that
night, i did not
go back to his father's
house.
| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
