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A week after we broke up, I allowed
Myself the pleasure of the dainties of pain.
This time without the luxury of tears.
I let it get worked up. In the throat,
In the heart. Who would have believed…
Which tells how a certain man took up with a prostitute in Hamburg, his first wife hearing of this came from Poland, how he was forced to give her a writ of divorce and this almost cost him his life…
I won’t be around forever, Mother said.
One day I’m going to die, so I might
as well nag you a little bit more,
while I have the chance. And when
I’m dead you’ll have to rely on someone else
to tell…