Be the Pom
A ‘scriptographic’ translation of Anna Akhmatova’s
Behind you my biker, my crazy
taker, herbs in the pannier and rope.
Sex in October and I’ll not mope
for days when July was long and hazy.
Oh, that’s me in the ocean: ‘Behold the air!’
No more to be catching it from nature:
catch it today in the aperture
of pink lips stealing a kiss upon the stair.
Take heart, colleague, and with it run.
Take heart from the earthly word chthonic.
Must Mexico now be gin and tonic
when a moa drinks margaritas in the sun?
To be the pom, my tongue a flicker
of Queen’s Speech tripping on your tongue.
In the evening, recycle me down at the wrecker—
shorten my vowels. Make them wrong.