I wish I was a marble
faun at the foot of the fountain
in the heart of the market of the town,
where life swarms.
Instead I sit on the steps of that fountain,
squinting at the antsy rustling around me,
grabbing my bottle tighter.
I have since recently fallen in love with that
marginally overweight businessman
gulping from his pocket flask
while waiting for his tram,
because I love the expression of fear
in his face that I know so well.
And I love even more the posh secretary
smoking nervously, stomping her stilettos
on the sidewalk, because she
leaves her package of cigarettes
on the bench for me every single
day of her working week.
The rest I majestically ignore.
The same straying dog meets me at eight
with a mouth full of hedonistic laughter
and throws his meager body against mine
to get the night shiver out of our bones.
Serge Gurkski
Riposa in pace, Poeta.