Little Motors
Daniel Hevier [translated from the Slovak by John Minahane]
All day I walk the streets and do nothing
except grow old. I watch
the children present their fiery performances.
I am scared of the splendid flywheels
winding at the hub,
their bodies full
of strings and magnets.
They smell of cinammon and sand.
They stand in the rain conversing
with my shoes, while I
stand over them like an ancient palm
that no longer remembers anything.
All day I walk the streets and feel
their gazes photographing me.
Who knows how I look
In those snapshots:
most probably like a weary bear
observing their bodies
full of pumps and alarm clocks.
The rounded geomtery of their little butts
takes my breath away.
They walk behind me and amuse themselves
treading on the shadow of my head.
Orange juice drips off their bellies.
And the globe goes on turning,
driven by those
unsatiated,
resolute,
furious,
wonderful
little motors.
AW
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