martes, 16 de octubre de 2012

"Suprise party"




The turntable hacked up a melancholy blues
The air was heavy with dust and odors
Several zazous danced while holding to their hearts 
Short girls with spasmodic behinds 

In a closet, an amateur obstetrics couple
Delivered themselves to games full of art and naivete
Another in a corner attempted with ardor
Tonsil-coupling, to music. 

Hands encountered one another under too-short skirts
Drunk, two lovebirds-(what if I said: two dodos?)
Looked everywhere for a bed; they were all full... 

Let this happy youth screw itself
Why eradicate from them this impure manure
If their hope restricts itself to rubbing membranes?


Boris Vian