Shall I compare thee to Peking’s subway,
Thus I began my usual mockery,
which, this time, was interrupted
by him saying, “it’s Shakespeare
so it should be metro, not subway.
That actually makes sense,
but would break my puns.
I smiled back affirmative,
liking this Britishman more
like a friend than as a colleague.
The subway-metroism stays
in my mind and never fades away.
I wonder how the bard would
say about modern times—
he probably would cry instead.
{END}
This windy night
smells like marijuana,
despite the snowy rain
and the rainy snow after.
Her mild annoyance
is hiding behind her face.
She lies on my bed reading,
flowing gently into the night.
This hollow apartment
is a pipe of secondhand
smoking. Anyone, anywhere
can choke us to the brim.
Only one more month,
she just said, one more
month and we’re gone,
like forever, for real.
I’m sitting by her side,
staying silent and sad,
and writing this down.
Yes, we’ll be gone.
{END}
Saying “I don’t care any more” usually means you still do.
In some cases, you even struggle for the opportunities to say it.
But the subtlety of the notion lies in what would happen, embarrassingly, afterwards — the listener, who’s supposed to care, usually stops to do so.
Let’s see what happens between the embarrassor Nathan and his listener girlfriend Sylvia.
“Why? Why you didn’t listen to me? If you just did it as I told you, my father wouldn’t…”
“My gosh, Syl! I couldn’t fake it! I just couldn’t! Why do we have to fake things to be together?”
“Because that’s the only way to make us possible, Nathan! Think about what you’ve done! Think about it! Now you’re making me choose between you and my father!”
“I’m not, Syl! That’s not the point…”
“You’re not listening! Can’t you see the point? I can’t choose you over my father…”
“That’s…”
“Or vise versa!”
“Syl!”
“What do you want me to do now? What am I gonna do?”
(Ten more minutes of fight later.)
“You know what, Syl. I don’t care! I don’t care anymore!”
{END}
You Must Love Me and Be Loved By Me
by Fanz Hugo
Where do we go from here?
Will this be
where we intended to be?
What do we see?
I still believe in you.
Will you me?
Certainties disappear.
What do we do
for our dream to survive?
How do we keep
all our passions alive
as we used to do?
Deep in my heart
I’m still searching
for lives that we are longing.
Meant to cherish its meaning.
Frightened it will slip away.
You must love me.
You must love me
and be loved by me.
(Inspired by the song “You Must Love Me” from Evita)
{END}
Young Legs in Spring
by Fanz Hugo
It’s morning again,
but morning is commuting.
Young legs of schoolgirls
in uniform fill the train.
An occasional teenager
sits and nudges her fingers,
with her annoyed father
standing by in silence.
White legs, dark legs,
socks and playful skirts.
All are impatient,
especially in the morning.
Young legs are slim and fast,
roaming the escalator,
up to the station exit.
They never stop stretching.
For once, she stands still,
hands down helping
her skirt fight the wind outside,
waiting for her pals to come.
Her future rivals. Or lovers.
Who knows. It’s up to her.
Two young legs will
walk elegance in spring.
{END}
Fanz Hugo 