(Cont.d)What a draft around the burner
the small flame gasps
and when the darling husband arrives
can the broccoli alone
be enough on the table?
the woman thinks in her daze
she thinks with the small window
facing the sea.
“May you drop stone dead, may you
drown like thick broccoli
in water, may you pour out
your balls even
to this foul foaming hunger!”,
the woman shouts in a rage.
The flame droops murkily,
it dies out. The broccoli have melted,
vanished. Where did the husband go?
(Translated by Luigi Bonaffini)