No. 7


Tomas Ekström  
Translated from the Swedish by Lars Palm  


The summer streets resemble
Super 8 movies from the seventies

Say a year;
I say 1973
when everything still was possible
and Elvis still
was slim

Think a place;
a parking lot
somewhere in Tennessee,
scorching sun 
on the roofs of the cars

I think it smelled of gasoline
and cracked, smoky leather


Wreck saved in the suburb,
parking lot container world,
black battleship on the road 
Ride leaning in all directions:
steering-arm broken, rust in bearing parts,
hole right through the floor

Wintry carburettor spirit morning,
dark exhaust a despairing
car heater
This is no junkies car 
no heroinist ford

my baby drove up in a brand new

A black early morning you light 
your eyes,
stretch out your backbone between
my thighs, wonder how we
wound up like this

You flash blue
Venetian blinds dust
street-lamp yellow stripes


Get happy by Charles Bukowski
Get happy by the child who wants to vote for the left
Get happy by Einar Heckscher
Get sad by the cat litter, peed-in and lumpy
and the stinking bathroom
Get calm by that voice singing when itís late
"Until itís time for you to go"
Get furious at the memories just lying passive
in a shoebox; letters and photos
with their slowly vibrating messages
Get furious at the man outside the liquor-store
telling me I shouldnít give money to the beggar
because heís a lazy bastard with no will
Get calm by the autumn that has fallen in over Malmö
although people fold themselves in again, throw away
the flower-boxes
and take down the sunshades
Get sad by all the windows turning grey as safe-doors
Get happy by the child who wants to vote for the left
Get happy by Serge Gainsbourg




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