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Sport 31: Spring 2003
Bella Akhmadulina's motor-scooter
Bella Akhmadulina's motor-scooter
It is your scooter I am looking at,
your scooter I would follow
from traffic light to traffic light,
café to café,
loitering with intent
to look:
those flying wheels, that red paint!
I am a poet, I haven't even got a cell-phone.
I follow your scooter with my eyes
like a little daughter,
wanting to touch.
I even envy your shiny raincoat.
I feel like a snail, my poetry around me
like a dirty shell.
Still the future will reach us both
just as soon, here it comes
sto
ste
sto
ste
bearing down on us
with metal feet.
At least when the future has squashed me
onto the tarmac of today
I will leave behind me
a silver trail.