you had different horizons, country
although the ugly days and the years of fire
have baked you like a sponge cake you still seem to be
this matter made up of landscapes and families
where every so often somebody asks another what happened
what made you do those things to us
similar to crime or those things nobody dares to fully mention yet
like some shame hidden in photos burned at the right time
or blood relatives buried at the back of the house at dawn
when nobody is awake and those who might be
do not want to see and seek shelter in the worn-out history
of nightmares and insomnia
I was educated to love you country
as a child I cried singing the pledge of allegiance
I was the last possible generation the last bullet of your Russian roulette
the knock on the temple after which you wake up to another world map
where I uselessly searched for your silhouette of a bad girl
slapping you every time with more fury aimed at the world
you old hooker
I know you have been though a lot
(the last two hundred years have not been good at all
for neither of us)
and hope that tomorrow you would choose your gigolos better
for the best possible for your children
the boarding school where you left us smells of dog pee
and nobody is very friendly anywhere
plus you do not come to see me very often
I miss all these promises of love
when you gave birth to me in a municipal hospital
so typical giving birth among water leaks
and making innocents weep at the expense of others
smiling as if you were faultless
waiting for congratulations and flowers and sweets
among pillows and attentions where
whole and worn and in a new part
your old blood stood out