Green Hybrid Breed Poem by Christos R. Tsiailis

Through your eyes only do I know your mother,
decent and ethical you said she had been to
just outside the bone,
until she started drinking beer,
as in 5% death,5% to quench thirst
and 200% to take revenge, you said,
on your thick-skinned daddy,
You, your mother and a hybrid breed on your back!

Her belly torn like second, bigger p-y was it,
to deliver the cupid, the Punic, the muse, my abuse,
the big, misplaced hybrid, you.
You, you, you, always about you,
where stands I?

Your pet is a frog,
with a rock and some sand in the very tall water tank,
green is not always green, you said too many times,

your thought is a pet,
cuddling it, cuddling it, but no tear.

Lately you’ve bought a hybrid car,
changing from fast aerodynamic to an easy stroller,
how much bored are you, a month after?

We live on a two-storey penthouse with a garden
on the highest skyscraper on the shore near
Manhattan,
if
man had an
ease, I would cease.

I say, so seldom do I neglect
to wish I could dive from up here
straight in the ocean tail,
so seldom do I wish, indeed,
I croaked alone
all this
pain.

(Cyprus,05/06/2007)