Pungent, yellow - seven rays.
Hits the eyes.
Piercing stench. It is being sterilized.
„Act natural! " Secondhand clothes
by the kilo.
Across the Chinese market and below
led by the coloured smell of poverty.
The rubber. A condom failure.
Use, toss, and let there be
heady odorous-orgy.
Wealth - is in unconscious pleasure.
Holding out another measure.
A flashy skirt - perhaps. But as the eye
runs down the thighs it's clear,
my tights were bought last year.
A ladder in the fabric. As though
it were the brand. A streak remains,
a stitch unravelled by your gaze.
(Translated by Owen Good, finishing
touches by Kinga Fabó)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem