Two

translated by Judy Kendall and Daniel Puia Dumitrescu

 

Grandpa and grandma decided one night to have sex in the park behind the block.  They sent invitations to their overseas grandchildren; specially ordered invitations: orange, fringe bordered, with the symbol of the late Republic encouraging multilateral development and an old picture taken by Nae, the Security policeman, on their first date. To begin with, grandpa, holding a measuring tape and quite a few agricultural engineering devices, went round and measured the site, the humidity and the type of soil in the park. Meanwhile, grandma distributed to her lady neighbors – who had come out on their balconies – cheer flags and mark cards GRADE PANNELS. Grandpa considered taking down one cradle and few swings to be absolutely necessary, but this took longer than they expected – three full days. Yet it wasn’t a problem, as grandma had enough supplies for the entire building – the festive dinner included home-made bread, pickles and country milk. The building administrator took care in person of the sound system. He brought the reel-to-reel recorder, connected it to the surround system, and played Beatles and Maria Ciobanu. In the hole grandpa had dug, they laid a hearts-and-angels embroidered duvet, and in the background they screened on the poplars a movie spot : grandma cooking, grandpa on the truck, grandma breastfeeding, grandpa milking the cow, grandma and grandpa taking folk dancing lessons, grandma and grandpa at the flea market. At eleven o’clock sharp, cheered by neighbors with rice and confetti, the two came out naked, leaning on the same walking stick; they smiled – neither wore their mouth plate. They sat themselves in the hole, rolled over a few times and died. And everybody raised the grade pannels, showing only ‘10s’.

Mountain vacation

We caught a kid,

we tie up his neck with elastic rope

eyes like office workers behind registers

fixing nails and metal stakes

pairs of dragonflies lightens our shoes,

we follow them rise above the tablet.

 

Matthew tells me that every year a goat kills a man.

 

Along with midnight

the purple tarpaulin it’s like the slipway

raindrops collected in corners

my forefinger strolling along the touch screen

along the scratched skin

among bruises having the color of marked trails

 

Matthew tells me that every year a goat kills a man.

 

We got used with staying only inside,

I unzip it and the cold air bursts in,

the tent it’s heated until evening,

we chew chips with cheese

we watch the flies come down

we confuse his fur with the fluffy blowballs.

 

Matthew tells me that every year a goat kills a man

 

So, I set my camera on Pet,

the 10mpx and a maximum zoom makes him alive

an ant sneaks into his nose,

nauseating, Matthew’s face becomes orange

and behind the clouds the sun appears

like inside of a Halloween pumpkin.

 

Matthew tells me that every year a goat kills a man.

 

   translated by Blacklicorn