poems back artist cataloque
I enter a shabby building.
The wardrobe man. Mumblin',"Why handing about
I'm trying to justify myself - the payments.
But I'm moving back sideways, taking to my
neals away from the guard of order.
A stairway. A corridor. A stairway. A corridor.
I read, The Chief Accountant.
Pehaps, it's here. A green door.
My breath recouered, I open it carefully.
A room. A table. Chairs.
There are two men in black civilian clothes.
I ask stammering, "Pleas... Are payments...Here..."
The minute they spot me they revive and jump up.
"That's who where waiting for! You're olur hope!"
I look at them stupefied.
"You should take it upon yourself!"
I ask, "what?"
"Why what! You should stand at the head of
our state!"
I get dumb.
The smaller one stands straight and clicks with
his heals.
"The prime minister' he smiles ingratiatingly.
Then he points the taller one,
"That's thje second minister".
That one smiles a bit the same ingratiatingly.
The Prime goes on.
"The country and the peoply are waiting specially
for you. We're not hastening you. We know.
That's the responsibility. But we ask. We ask.
Thjugh, we're better not to worry you, not to disturb"
And think carefully!
Both stand straight, click wityh their heals, both
go out.
I tried to utter anything, but only now I feel
words breaking thru;
I look out the door. It's time to take to my heals.
Running down the corridors, down the stairways,
stumbling. A blind alley.
I turn back. Stairways again. Corridjrs again.
"A mad house! Nonsense..."
Suddently I find myself outsaide. I breathe joyfully.
It's time to go home. Goddamn it all.
The tunnels of the undeground. The boxes of
the buses.Houses...houses.
The stairway. Door 40. I open it. Well...
A throng. Both ministers.
"We're waiting"smiling.
I wake up.

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