Crack
Through the slightly open door, you saw
the disguised fox getting into the full chicken pen.
Its little raised tail, and with soft movements,
dusted the stars. Then the old men with rotten
teeth lay down with their backs on the yard tiles,
still expecting something and having a dry
tree branch in their shirts. This was needed,
he’d say, and this too. It seemed that he didn’t believe it
nor he expect the others to believe him. The thin
woman took the glass, went close to him, bent
her small finger and passed the ring of his smoke
as if she was the only one who believed him.
Manolis Aligizakis 