Hot Chocolate

There're three pears in a bowl.
It's raining outside the window.
There's some strawberry jam in a jar.
Two wasps, unfortunate prisoners, have grabbed some sugar,
are poking into the window glass.
Where are you flying, buzzing fools?
There's heavy rain outdoors.
For several days now,
it has been pouring, like from a bucket,
then dripping on the collar of unfortunate ghosts
and aliens from the Fifth Planet.

Sometimes I think:
Where are you now, in what worlds?
You might be sitting in a lotus.
You might be painting watercolors.
You might be reading haiku.
You might be meditating on the fire.
You might be dreaming endless dreams.

The blue door shell creak.
The hostess shell bring a bottle of goat milk.
She'll be chatting by seventeen o'clock.
About kids, about a stupid husband,
who finds a job in Denmark.
I'll pretend to be a stupid fool immersed in books.
I'll pretend to no notice her blouse ripped open by her ripe breasts.

She'll sigh and I'll sigh.
I'll smile with corners of my mouth.
Not now, darling.
Maybe later on.
And now leave me along.
Of course I'll never sat that.
Words hurt too much.

She'll leave.
I'll open the window to free my random prisoners,
two, heavy with the sugar, wasps.
I'll make hot chocolate
while meditating.
The rain will stop at midnight.
The earth will be revealed to blinking stars.
I'll go out in the meadows to bathe in the dew,
to swim in the lake filled with moonlight.
I'll disappear for a moment
and find myself just sleeping like a baby
in my bedroom in the morning.

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© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2021