Ibikur

Here I am sitting with an octogenarian guerilla (Belarus forest) in his small home in Ibikur.

bird-pecked grape clusters…
some left for us too
by the winged ones of Galilee

Mikhal Osipych, bridges and bridges you talk about. Tell me instead if you killed a human being.

-What human being? I got my social worker, phew…
I cannot do her without Viagra.
Well, my neighbor is not a bad looking one either. She is ready, you know.
My leg is in pain. What should I do?

Mikhail Osipovich, honest, did you kill at least one human or not?

-The bridge was awful. It did not catch fire at once. I had to haul more and more hay.
Damn! We did derail them just like that!

Mikhail Osipych, please, did you kill? Would you tell me?

-No I did not kill him.
He was lying on the ground. Wounded. And he pointed to his side, „Shoot me“. I shot him

afternoon stillness…
this little white bird
with a dot in her ass

= Translated by the author =