Kawasaki Hiroshi / 川崎洋 – Ⅰ

Sunday 

 

 

Getting up in the morning

I take my hunting gun down from the wall,

shoot the coffee on the table

and slowly yawn.

 

I walk into the ocean.

When I lie back on the waves

my face and ignorant toes

poke through the surface.

 

Then

my back timorously questions

‘May I sleep now?’,

while my thighs don’t know what to do with themselves.

Only my hands, not forgetting,

knowingly paddle little by little.

 

I get out of the ocean.

On the beach I pick up a fish as large as myself and sling it across my shoulder.

I hoist its slimy weight into place.

Still alive, it sometimes twists and turns

and makes me stagger.

 

A young girl with erected nipples comes towards me.

I put the fish down.

I remove the straw wrapping from around my penis.