His Last Profession
This is it – he says – my last profession – one villager’s
handkerchief large with blue and white squares
I unfold it I fold it I wipe off my sweat
or even my eyes sometimes Here I gather my belongings
some books one armchair my cigarettes the lighter
the magnifying glass for shaving and the other one
a size reducer as if to look at unpleasant things
or those others that they call unachievable
In this handkerchief
exactly in the middle there is a hole Through there
during the darker nights the secret bird comes in
my bird hops on my shoulder or my knee
and feeds me with an ear of grain with a star or with a worm
Manolis Aligizakis 