Passions
The morgue is fine:
so cool in there.
Ours is a rather old morgue.
I went there today
in connection with our patient.
A young man.
I’m so fed up with
this business,
so during the dissection
I watched his face.
When they cut him,
his face was wrinkled
as though he couldn’t bear it.
But after they stitched him up,
his face turned smooth
as though he was relieved.
Actually, the pathologist woman
was very good.
She does her job masterfully.
She’s stronger than any man.
And she does it so adroitly.
Oddly enough, such a beauty
does that job.
Everyone loves watching her.
Sasha, you’re as dumb about this
as a horse cloth.
Sasha, rein back a bit,
you’re very dense in this matter.
Yes, I saw it:
the horses were all decorated,
they jumped over fire
for some reason.
Our steeplechase
includes ten “dead” hurdles.
The ditch is very deep.
It’s called an “open ditch”.
An open ditch?
An ear then mound is called “a bank”.
It’s called a bank.
- What? Picnic? Briquette?
- Bank.
There were three of us, friends,
when I was studying.
Three girlfriends.
Myself, Rita Gothier,
and my present colleague.
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