Whores and little sisters of whores
Stop lying now in poems about sunsets and sunrises
What, slut, have you got zucchini
ripened in your garden
and your granddaughters boys are strangling cats, and the girls have turned out cross-eyed?
But
Mr. Whiskey, please,
I am not capable of such revelations even in my native language.
No,
these women in headscarves want to show all the other women that you are whores.
But I heard their harem conversation in their cashiers' locker room.
They seem so chaste.
How is the sunset, how is the sunrise, how are the granddaughters?
They do not care about the war
after all, it is a state matter.
Mr. Whiskey, I ask you to stop.
***
© Copyright: Елена Гаврилова 7, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125081201036
Свидетельство о публикации №125081201036
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