Fate
Chattering
cheerful voices that swirled away into the blue...
you were
quite miserable, Fatty, though no single one of us knew.
Sweaty fat
and thick... Hell though was crouching and sprang
up-ending
you and your bike. We laughed at you, the whole gang.
You sat on
the bench at the front... don’t cry now, no stare, stare, stare!
when a witty
scared substitute teacher asks what two and two are.
Middle
school teachers like him salvaged control of the class
by turning
it all upon you, who felt a defenceless poor ass.
Finally
spring came for us, fifteen with never a care,
the trees
stood casting their light over the girls’ silken hair
you came close,
cautious and earnest – but all ended just in a rout:
the one who
laughed loudest at us was her the whole thing was about.
Time for
revenge! Now you’re dressed in cross-belt and high-polished boots,
your pale
blue eyes have a gleam, you lift an arm in salute.
With hatred
mockery threats a person is able to cope –
But not, no
never at all: To be made to feel a dope...
Now you are
someone, Fatty! Both party comrade and man.
And if one
day we go to the wall, your hand will show what it can.
Ready with
knuckleduster to smash my face black and blue,
Your urge now to murder, Fatty, the bad years
you’ve been through.
1 comment:
at last, a reaction to a poem that ought to have a place in danish literary history!
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