Marcin Świetlicki

Three poems

Battlefield

She’s lying beside me. Pretends to sleep.
Will anything nice survive the destruction?
We’ve killed everything. Bright moths
touch both sides of the window. Peace.
Quiet so far.
A hundred times she made clear she did not want me.
But I tried every male
trick. She’s here. She’s
beside me in someone’s bed.
She lost. Won. I won. Lost.
She’s lying there. Dressed, I sit down
at a distance. Watching.
Knocked over, broken teacups.
Ashtray with two long butts.
When she opens her eyes, I’ll open fire.


So Long Ago, So Distinctly

In the morning I go to see the spot chosen by lightning.
Beneath an oak some scrap metal, a rust-eaten
bucket. The earth seems older here,
greyer. Deafened worms crawl from crevices.
Not this time.


Mcdonald’s

I find your teethmarks in a strange city.
I find your teethmarks on my shoulder.
I find your teethmarks in the mirror.
Sometimes I am a hamburger.
Sometimes I am a hamburger.
Lettuce sticks out of me and mustard runs.
Sometimes I am mortally like
all other hamburgers.
First layer: skin.
Second layer: blood.
Third layer: bones.
Fourth layer: soul.
And your teeth
marks the deepest,
the deepest.

Translated by Tadeusz Pióro.