ME AND TOM WAITS

so, for a few years now he keeps coming

here, as if he lived here

(and sometimes I think that’s true)

and talks about women and we both swallow

and smoke, sometimes he rolls a joint

and then his thoughts are all unconnected and fast.

”I am tired of all the applause,” he says, and I know

how he feels, and in silence we admit that with them it is

easier, they are a balance to the blues, like

a cloudy morning, that is better than a sunny morning,

when you’re hung over, when we’re hung over,

he goes through my manuscripts, never

says anything, he looks like me, goddamn bastard,

but I can’t kick him out, he was there for me many times,

many times when I was almost lost, very

lost, and damned-well aware of all the losses

that I had lived, and all the losses that wait for me

in this, in that, and in all the worlds there are,

”Bastard, he murmurs beneath his nose, you’re never there to boast of something,”

and we both pour another,

while I tap the blues with my foot.

it gets difficult when there’s no beer, your eyes

grow heavy, and there’s nothing to do

so we show our tattoos to one another.

the night is a whore too expensive for us,

and we always take her

Translated by Ulvija Tanović