Elegy

along the street the outcast pauses his earring makes him special a useless worker of the disgraceful he’s stood at the crossroads of  years the traffic light contains three colors but none give him permission to cross I live OK and work at present as word processor (from the root “cess”) and in the process wander or hold court with whacked youngsters you just can’t get used to death you drain your life toiling for some treasure you’ll die like a darling you won’t protest and out of decorum pretend to see the light die just like the rest of us and to your relatives’ delight agonizing confess you know where to find the gold Translated from the Russian