*
Over the rocks a bridgespan.
I run into an easterly wind. What a thug!
It slips inside my shorts like a shot
and swells up bags and pot.
I start to drink from a jug
just to freshen the sheet
and relax my arms to rise to the heavens.
But nothing at all happens
(maybe I didn’t digest the onions!)
After the easterly, careful,
here comes my son to shove me around
a bird gives me the eye, a seagull,
legs and knees leave the ground
(next time I’ll eat fennel)
The sun laughs down from its height
(we laugh together to get through the night!)
(Translated by Luigi Bonaffini)