metal stench of love

alarm.
stop. get up.
clothes off, clothes on.
coat, shoes, scarf, bag,
step step step, open door, get out.

wait at the station,
world still fuzzy all around.
first coffee didn’t kick in yet.
train arrives on time.

sit opposite a large metal-type of dude.
black t-shirt, black pants, chains, the works.
blindly find the bookmark,
try to focus on reading “Dodger”.

my attempt fails after a few lines and I check out the metalhead instead.

his stereotypically black t-shirt contains his aspirations for the afterlife:
“Fuck Hell I will go to Valhalla”, is written on it,
in stereotypically gothic-type letters.
his stereotypically long hair have the shine of a hair-dye ad.
I try to get back to reading the book.

the story presents us with a small detail about a dog named Onan.
a dog old and silly, constantly bearing a foul smell.
when its previous owner, Solomon, was trying to escape Nazi Germany,
some guards attacked him.
Onan immediately fought back to protect the person he loved,
and didn't stop growling and fighting and biting,
even though the hits he took on the head hurt so much
and probably made him the silly weak dog he's become.

I look up towards the man opposite me, not able to contain my tears.
he glances back at me for half a second,
with non-stereotypically strong empathy,
a mixture of surprise and sadness born from my sadness.
then he quickly looks away, for it should never be revealed,
that he has feelings too.

well, they say we are what we love.
right this moment I love that giant sensitive metalhead
and that poor old stinky fictional dog.
if this makes me poor and old and giant and sensitive and stinky and fictional,
so be it.

you stay cool and real, let’s see where it takes you.

______

© Dimitrios Kokkinos 2015

responsible life and career planning

a seminar room

full of beautiful,
shiny,
people.

all achievers,
over- or under-.
in their mind successful,
no idea at what.

truly serious,
reserved,
assisted by their instructor
in analyzing,

their optimal path towards
the garden with money for grass,
beach houses for trees,
children for bugs,
and pension for sun.

don't go towards the light.

Imperfect, Dirty and Determined.
that's how Life is
that's how Sex is
that's how You should be.

______

© Dimitrios Kokkinos 2015

against gray

a’

I watch his slow, delicate, floating but determined moves.
wrapping the silver piece of paper.
moving the small pair of scissors along the scarlet ribbon.
cutting where years of experience tell him that it's long enough.
carefully finishing a bow around the package.

I glance into the deep gray of his eyes.
he doesn't stare back, just humbly accepts his fee.

- Merry Christmas and happy holidays!
- To you too, child. 

tulips have never looked as great.
too bad he cannot see them.
I bet he knows they are beautiful.

b’

in the subway, a man staring at me angrily.

his girlfriend saw my flowers
and now wants some of her own.
in his mind,
I am clearly giving
a bad example.

as he stares,
a small piece of me detaches from the rest,
my left middle finger,
and floats away
like the ash from the tip of a lit cigarette

I touch where the piece used to be.
nothing.
I get scared, but try to ignore it.

I notice,

right across me,

the disapproving stare of an old lady.

it’s not clear,

if my excitement makes too strong a contrast

to her mood,

or if I attack her sense of taste with my existence,

but another piece of me,

a part of my cheek,

comes off and floats away.

more and more stares surround me.

I panic and jump out of the train,
dash up the escalator,
and with every step and every stare,
more and more pieces fly off.

she sees me running towards her,
a barely fastened knitting of shards.

as I fall completely apart,
I manage to hand the flowers over to her arms.

she smiled,
I think.

______

© Dimitrios Kokkinos 2015