monday blues

Monday Blues.


It’s snowing, wet flakes thawing quickly, it is too
late in the year for snow, and the almond tree petals
are much prettier to look at… A thin layer of snow
on top of the wall, I make a snowball and throw it
into the siesta sleepy street.

A critic compared me with writers I haven’t heard
of, except J. Conrad; I plainly didn’t measured up
to the great of yore; The Pole was an aristocrat,
people, even republicans, like to point that out, as
it should make any the difference.

Snow has thawed now, what we need is rain and
plenty of it, the stream looks as a badly kept road,
full of potholes, it hasn’t been like that for ninety
years, global warming is blamed. What did they
blame it on in the year of 1916?

The human mind is strange, it often records and
store useless things, the postman brought me a fan
letter today, someone, like my work well enough
to send me a letter, I’ve forgotten his words now,
but I do remember every word of the review.