So beautiful, so useful, so unrelenting
this moon, while you are sitting next to me
while flowers bounce off you
and none of my words or glances
succeed in coming between
your telephone calls.
You, of course, have all that wavy hair
and that magazine look.

I should have the moon
whispers the captivated body inside me
that's testing the chair
as if someone is coming to get this body.

There, a knife is glinting.
There, the limbs I am about to lose.
What the hell is going on here
I shout
while the nurse
pin-points the needle on my upper arm.

Translation: 2005, Willem Groenewegen