Mirek Bodnar 4

translated by Khrystyna Mykhailiuk
* * *

to watch political talk shows,

to read party leaflets,

to write letters to the authorities,

to take part in rallies and demonstrations,

to wave flags,

to fight against the anti-national regime

in the columns of independent press.

maybe something is unclear for me,

but this country has screwed up,

and that's for long.

my compatriots pray:

give us this day our daily bread –

freedom of speech to speak about politics,

and forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our candidates.

and lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from some next Kuchma.

happy smiling faces,

joy and unity on the barricades,

revolutionary hymns and songs.

boring.

I am twenty five,

I feel like fifty seven,

and I have nothing to lose, besides faith,

my mother died of heroin,

I do not know my father,

and in the great new family,
the family of the free,

I broke bad,

I was beaten by skinheads,

for defending Arabs and Negroes from the medical uni,

I was beaten by cops,

for drawing swastika on the walls of the white house,

and now I am standing naked before you

and I am crying out curses:

pass away, Mao, pass away, Che,

how long dare you poison these

defenceless shitheads,

who keep believing

in the noble ideals of your platforms,

pass away, anarchists and communists,

pass away, the apolitical,

who cannot live a day without politics.

when I lick a sweet clitoris of my woman,

it smells like strawberries,

that’s why I have never voted and will never do,

because the clitorises of those women, whose men vote,

smell like voting booths,

the sacrament of confession is replaced by the sacrament of voting,

they instil love for politics into everyone,

they say –

take an interest in politics, otherwise it would take an interest in you,

they say –

the best authorities are the ones no one knows anything about

that it, everyone knows only the fact they exist,

but you don't want to be unaware of the authorities,

you are happy being interested in them,

you come out on streets and squares,

you form human chains,

you lay flowers and light candles,

the authorities,

your private small tin god,

a pet,

a minion of fortune,

and when you have a huge crush on it,

you feel calm and cosy,

life makes sense:

to watch political talk shows,

to read party leaflets,

to write letters to the authorities,

to take part in rallies and demonstrations,

to wave flags,

to fight against the anti-national regime

in the columns of independent press.

maybe something is unclear for me,

but this country has screwed up,

and that's for long.

amen.