Excerpts from
The Worst and the Best
By Søren Ulrik Thomsen
The worst is when a secret door in the wallpaper opens
and you stare straight into the space
where the coming winter’s darkness is stacked
for 27 years the best each day
was the sharp knife of nicotine against my palate
and the worst is that I still miss
the sigh as well as the bluish banner
of smoke from Rattray’s Reserve
the worst is telephones ringing in the night
so your blood stops and spurts the other way around
who has it worst in New York City --
the skinny women shining in the dark
or their motheaten poodles
with diamond collars and runny eyes?
the worst words are project and vision
I’m totally exhausted at the sight of them
elevators in wind-ravaged subway stations
pedestrian underpasses’ rumbling pipes
underground parking lots, underground toilets
where twelve cigarette butts and a glob of bloody phlegm swim in the bowl:
That’s the worst for me.
Translated by Susanna Nied
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