Scarcely have they found Poem by Erik Spinoy

Scarcely have they found

a skeleton in the attic
in an old wardrobe

charred remains in a Cessna

bone shards in a cutter -

and see there
I am already
in my overalls

leaning heavily on my stick
because of something inside
that grips me tighter every day

and squinting from two eyes
that, always myopic,
are now long-sighted too.

It's mostly cold there,
a smell ascends
that penetrates
keenly through
my perfumed mask.

What I'm doing here
I do not know.

Translation: 2010, Gregory Ball