Pungent, yellow – seven rays.
Hits the eyes.
Piercing stench. It is being sterilized.
“Act natural!” Secondhand clothes
by the kilo.
Across the Chinese market and below
led by the coloured smell of poverty.
The rubber. A condom failure.
Use, toss, and let there be
Wealth – is in unconscious pleasure.
Holding out another measure.
A flashy skirt – perhaps. But as the eye
runs down the thighs it’s clear,
my tights were bought last year.
A ladder in the fabric. As though
it were the brand. A streak remains,
a stitch unravelled by your gaze.
(Translated by Owen Good, finishing
touches by Kinga Fabó)