Issue
#2

March
2009 

2 poems by Ross Vassilev

hole

walking the
cold streets
at dawn feeling
like a ghost
there's clouds
behind the
naked trees
and the flowers
smiling like
severed heads.
in New York
some kids
laughed at me
cuz i didn't
speak Spanish.
the only Spanish
word i know is
puta.
there's a hole
in the clouds
and a hole in
Kurt Cobain's
head: he's
stoned and
writing
a love song.

© Ross Vassilev

 
the crickets get to work

sitting on a green bench
there's nothing to do
but ogle teenage girls
while the parking meters
melt in the hot sun.
i tell one blonde wearing
a cheerleader's outfit
she's got nice legs.
she says thanks. got no
brothers or sisters. all
my relatives are back in
the old country. don't
even speak the language
anymore and my parents
ain't much. sitting on
a green bench in the hot
sun, nothing to do but
wait for the summer night.

© Ross Vassilev

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