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mercoledì 18 marzo 2015

Old lights

I turned too fast to the corner, the road was still wet
the car got out of control
the old car, i mean, the car from the old days
spun around, bumped into the pavement where no wanderer wanders.
the car was my parent's
we were ready for communism.
no one rang me, no one called me, no one was waiting for me
i was alone, as my substance asked me to,
and there was no mobile phones, no internet
just an exhausted hardware industry
and promises of transparency, of restructuration
by a worn out chief from the Kremlin
trying to present himself as glasnost-glamourous,
Gorby was from yet another time, and full of our vices
and full of our glories
we were ready for communism.
i felt bad for the car wasn't mine
my dad thought he worked somehow and they somehow
gave him money - there was no cause, no effect.
i learned in school there was no cause, no effect.
except when we got used to things
except when we expect
and we saw no point in expecting for
we were ready for communism
my mom wanted to promote the impossible dialogues
the priest with the teenager,
the road designer with the food carer,
the discipline with the spirit,
my dad and my craving for something else.
she dared, she tried, she deferred,
she was ready to disappear in the name of the right neon lights,
she was ready to tell me that what matters is where we're going -
we were ready for communism.
to be sure, my dad cherished property
my mom thought the future was next week,
and i mixed up football championships and forgiveness as a duty,
because i wanted to forgive
the big rocks and the mountains for their shining
i said: it is too late to learn, if learning is a mission,
the mission should be something else, should be respectful of these lights
i pointed at the lights of dusk, i thought a mandate was a matter of few days
for what else could it be, the sky was turning dark in seconds
and we were ready for communism.
maybe because there were no singing birds
no unicorns, no lonely stars, no news from across the sea
that would come to us everyday. there was just our functions,
that could be communist, that could be leading somewhere
for we would sit at the garage at the evening,
like all those suburb families in America,
and I would hear my parents say, only in constriction
that they were the old ones, that a youth was needed
and I would feel that I was no youth, I was waste unless
i would be ready for communism.
It was about time, yes, the passage of hours,
fix the car, pay the bill, have dinner
and wait for the family landline phone to ring for even the television,
the corporate television (there was no other), was waiting for communism
even in the wrong tune.
The family landline phone, of course, rang.

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