Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ester Naomi Perquin

CONVERSATION ON THE STREET

A man speaks, no, he doesn’t speak, he screams into his mobile
who the hell, he takes a breath, he sees me standing there,
who do you think you are
 
with your so-called manners your rich friends
your completely-booked-up week your good job
his voice breaks the phone open
 
the woman rolls out over the street, half dressed, mascara
smudged, scrambles to her feet in shock
and he starts again from the top
 
who do you think you are and watches me while hitting her,
watching until I shout enough stop she’s already
curled up in a ball she’s not hurting you man stop
 
but he’s not finished yet and watches me and asks
who do you think unrelenting forming words
in the palm of his hand you are
and doesn’t stop again

GESPREK

GESPREK

Op straat zegt een man in zijn telefoon nee zegt niet schreeuwt
wie denk je eigenlijk, haalt adem, ziet mij staan,
wie denk je dat je bent

met je goede manieren zogenaamd die rijke vrienden van je
met je vol geplande week je goede baan

zijn stem breekt het toestel open,

die vrouw rolt ineens over straat, half aangekleed, mascara
uitgelopen, krabbelt overeind, staat verbaasd
en hij begint weer opnieuw

wie denk je dat je bent en kijkt naar mij terwijl hij slaat,
blijft kijken tot ik roep dat is genoeg stop ze ligt
al opgerold ze doet je niks man
stop

maar hij is nog niet uitgepraat en kijkt naar mij en vraagt
wie denk je blijft maar doorgaan in zijn handpalm
woorden maken, dat je bent
houdt niet meer op
Close

CONVERSATION ON THE STREET

A man speaks, no, he doesn’t speak, he screams into his mobile
who the hell, he takes a breath, he sees me standing there,
who do you think you are
 
with your so-called manners your rich friends
your completely-booked-up week your good job
his voice breaks the phone open
 
the woman rolls out over the street, half dressed, mascara
smudged, scrambles to her feet in shock
and he starts again from the top
 
who do you think you are and watches me while hitting her,
watching until I shout enough stop she’s already
curled up in a ball she’s not hurting you man stop
 
but he’s not finished yet and watches me and asks
who do you think unrelenting forming words
in the palm of his hand you are
and doesn’t stop again

CONVERSATION ON THE STREET

A man speaks, no, he doesn’t speak, he screams into his mobile
who the hell, he takes a breath, he sees me standing there,
who do you think you are
 
with your so-called manners your rich friends
your completely-booked-up week your good job
his voice breaks the phone open
 
the woman rolls out over the street, half dressed, mascara
smudged, scrambles to her feet in shock
and he starts again from the top
 
who do you think you are and watches me while hitting her,
watching until I shout enough stop she’s already
curled up in a ball she’s not hurting you man stop
 
but he’s not finished yet and watches me and asks
who do you think unrelenting forming words
in the palm of his hand you are
and doesn’t stop again
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère