A premonition?... Or is the stench of alcohol
On the mailman's breath as he brings me a tardy
Letter?
A foreshadowing
Always appears before me
Like a long-thighed ostrich
In blithe departure.

Wherever it goes
It marks my tardy will,
There will always be a sign, some thick and greasy
Feather
Of its white prepotency.

By accident you wipe my kisses off your face
With the rest of the shaving cream clinging to your ears.
An intuition... another warning and
I ought to be careful... The termites are restless
When they fear to go out in the damp soil... Always a premonition...
I return exhausted to my daily routine
Like a vacuum cleaner sucking up yesterday's dust
And all sorts of other unpredictabilities
With a black cord wound around my feet.