(all 3 poems translated from Maltese by Albert Gatt)
Someone’s wife refuses to follow.
Someone’s wife refuses to follow
her therapist’s advice. She finally changes
out of her work uniform.
She nibbles at a chunk of dark chocolate.
Insists that she’s on first name terms with Buddha.
That he’s like an old faux pas, addled with dementia.
The question of beauty is no rare occurrence for her.
Sometimes it thunders but there’s no rain.
Sometimes it rains but there’s no thunder at all.
There’s dog hair all over the golden carpet.
There’s no getting rid of it.
The taxi’s idling outside already.
She doesn’t want to keep the driver waiting.
~
I woke up at two am.
I woke up at two am to rid you
of a mosquito. And took a gulp of water
from the kitchen sink.
Snapshots are all we know of a year
that left us empty-handed.
We were still married then. You’d leave
your specs on the bedside table and I
would put them away. Really
no big deal.
Again I dozed off on the leather armchair.
Again I confirmed your invitation had arrived
like a spasm of love.
~
Her eyes speak freely.
Her eyes speak freely.
His eyes are two beautiful cars,
two cars, beautiful and synchronised.
Her eyes are on their way but still far off.
His eyes are more spontaneous.
Her eyes say, what are they doing?
They’re driving at each other.
But how? Straight at each other, at top speed.
Her eyes, my friends, are the only thing that moves.
His eyes are faulty. His eyes are beautiful.
~
Cacti Fur 