OUR SAVAGE

 

Our savage who clatters his jaw “da-da-da”

and cossets himself as do the Slavs

with amazing ng-ng diminutives hot-headed

considering that the man is sad and to be human

is damaging depressing and he always hides

in his red chest but when he became aware

of all his deplorable state he filled with pride

in being sombre mammal and he had a good

scratch, he felt a joy almost up to the pain

considering that the man harshly originates

from the labour and his voice sounds obsequious

and then he sees himself as an apostle: the waiter

who poured soup with the ladle for a foreign guest

whom they begin to love as soon as the steam

touches the nostrils of that one and then

it seems to him that he regains his attention for himself.