I don’t want to amuse you; I’m not your sarcastic clown.
Things are either funny or they’re not.
I’m a writer. I want to give you my personal, uninformed opinion
about the million and one ways to be unhappy,
about potentials never to be fulfilled,
and opportunities best left to pass.
*
Once, I went to McDonald’s with a girl, just to get some free Wi-Fi,
and she said I should order something.
I didn’t. I’m a writer. I don’t eat at fancy fast foods.
I prefer a kebab stall in the middle of the street. But I also know
that if I throw a ball, my lapdog will always try to catch it.
*
Once, I heard a guy open up too much during a stand-up,
and I felt embarrassed for him. I’m a writer—I talk about everyone
even when I talk about myself. But I also know
that sometimes I feel the urge to write the most nonsensical stuff,
just to share it with the whole world.
*
I have a stable job and no girlfriend. It feels wrong
getting back home after sacrificing eight hours of my life
for no one but me. But I also know
that Hitler may have escaped to Patagonia in Argentina—and it’s a place
I would also choose to end my days,
after I’ve done enough damage to the world.
*
Once, I met a Witness, then a Baptist—both tried to convert me,
and I befriended them. I’m a writer. I don’t adhere to anything for longer
than it takes to read a new book. But I also know
that crocodiles are sexist; a crocodile embryo will always be female
unless the temperature in the nest is perfectly warm.
*
Once, I wrote these verses in a retro bar, with a pen
borrowed from the waitress. My friend said she seems lesbian,
but I said maybe she just has bad taste in haircuts. But I also know
that cats always fall on their feet—but if you throw
a slice of bread with jam into the air, it will always fall on the jam.
*
Once, I went to dance, and the girl I went with told me
that I don’t know how to dance just for fun.
I’m a writer—I know dancing is a socially accepted mating ritual.
I am not oblivious to the instinct behind this all. But I also know
that everyone likes eating steak, but there are only a few
who would have the guts to go and kill the cow.
*
After she broke up with me, one of my exes told me
that she had learned a lot from me. I’m a writer,
so I thought, for my part, I had unlearned a lot from her,
like faith in people.
*
When I was 7 years old, my uncle killed a pig in front of me
for a family dinner. I’m a writer.
Since that day, every time I see pork,
I remember that squealing, innocent creature
whose life faded before my eyes and then
the cutlets taste even better.
*
Pain au chocolat is a French croissant with chocolate inside.
A bidet is a French sink for the anus.
Bagietka is a Polish diminutive of the French word baguette.
I’m a writer, so I propose a new product:
bidetka – a donut smeared with chocolate.
*
I’m an Argentinian writer. Kurwa in Spanish means a curve.
The Spanish GPS always tells us when a kurwa appears.
But in Polish, that word means a lady
who exchanges sexual services for money—
though it can also mean: I’m angry or surprised.
Just like the word przepraszam. It means:
I’m sorry for causing you trouble,
but it can also mean, in Poznanian slang:
Move, you bastard. I’m coming through!
*
People buy protective cases for their smartphones, but I’m a writer.
I imagine that Machiavellian meeting
in which all phone manufacturers decided on the material
for the screen of the expensive device you always hold in your hand.
Someone probably proposed plastic, but then
the Hitler reincarnate said: No, let’s make it from the same material
as those glasses you smash for good luck during a toast.
*
When I was a teenager in Argentina, a kid mugged me on the street.
He told me: Give me your money, or I’ll put a bullet in your head.
And he didn’t even have a weapon, which scared me even more,
because I’m a writer. I imagined that kid’s determination:
He was ready, for a few pesos, to go get a gun,
find out where I live, and shoot me.
In Argentina, we have hardworking criminals.
*
Back to swear words. My favorite in Polish isn’t jebać PiS,
because I’m a writer. I think cholera jasna is in first place in creativity.
Because cholera is a terrible disease, and Poles don’t want to mislead.
It’s definitely cholera—without a doubt, cholera.
It’s jasna cholera, not some vague diarrhea.
*
The UK and Poland sent tanks to Ukraine to help it fight.
The USA will send them missile systems. And I’m a writer,
so I suggest simply sending them weapons of mass destruction:
planes full of politicians.
*
Zoologists describe that female monkeys fake orgasm by making rhythmic sounds,
to help the male finish among the jungle noise.
I’m a writer, so I assume they also laugh at their unfunny jokes.
*
People say that traveling broadens horizons. But I’m a writer,
so I think the last traveler who really broadened them was Columbus.
Maybe in space we’re to discover what we’re truly looking for,
because in Paris, Tokyo, or Seattle there is no escape from our final destination.
*
Once I invited a Polish woman on a date, and she wrote back: “I’m not interested.”
I was glad, because I’m a writer and I’m not interested in anything either
it’s not interest that guides my life, but pleasure and truth.
*
I’m a writer, so I’m not fond of psychologists,
self-development influencers or motivational speakers.
Because at most they teach us how to live,
but not the most important thing:
how to die.
*
Once, in a bar, I found a cassette, and my friend wondered what it had recorded.
I’m a writer. I threw it away and finished this poem. But I also know
that I’m just a guy with a borrowed pen—and sometimes, it is nice to stop
and spend some time doing silly stuff, like listening to music,
building up a civilization, or hanging out with a friend.
***
