There are fathers
who when the German shepherd gets whiny
take him out to the woods and shoot him.
There are fathers who toss kittens
one at a time against a concrete wall.
The sons stand by, alert as silver spoons,
watch closely, shout: BULL’S EYE!
and beat up the parquet floor
with their plastic hammers.
They measure things, the sons,
with their gauges and rulers.
Measure the tones of voice,
the number of words indicating attention,
the degree of tenderness shown
when Dad picks them up,
the ceiling of his patience
when they scramble upstairs.
Full of such metres they are,
the little sons.
‘No put on clothes, want jammies,
now read good book
here in our new home.
Tomorrow, at the streetcar stop,
they’ll tell the fathers to jump like rabbits.
And the whole world’s fathers obey
and jump, jump hilariously,
with jutting incisors.
Translated by Anselm Hollo