[Hot and sticky] Poem by Erik Spinoy

Hot and sticky - an iron
diktat from
the local climate.

In the afternoon
ova, babies
by the thousand
sit in the hideously swollen
eyes, nose and mouth.

Beneath moon- and halogen-light
grape-black lips prepare
it seems to pucker for this
their very final
air-kiss.

While the camera zooms
in on this slow seething
a kind of pale phlegm
falls (a drip
from a leaky tap)
into the clutches of the ants.

After first the snails the
waiting of the vultures also
is now rewarded.

Startled they take
vomiting to the air.

Translated by John Irons