King Perun is back, he is back, he is back
shouts a half-naked boy
as he smears the village’s fork paths with his apple vinegar body
a lady in electric blue harem pants wobbles around white chickens like a keg
and shouts at him, slow down you’re chasing them away
I’ve just gathered and counted them
Now I have to do it again
Her cabbage head abruptly tilts towards the rebel
but trying to catch it
she instead falls into a pig’s water trough,
a stranded zucchini boat in this sea of yard waste,
the lady helplessly waves her jointless limbs
until young Haruna stops the plunk plunk harf music
she was making in a steaming bronze vat,
two plucked rooster heads stick out their tongues
to sneer at the stripy cat caught in movement malfunction
Haruna drags the old lady by the hand across the destitute podium
her bare feet sinking into the dark plasticine
King Perun shuts the silver vault
tugs at his snakeskin gold-buckled belt
laughs and looks around
a bare brick-foundation of the greenroom Pollocked with bird shit
its floor partly covered with tooth-decayed corn
stubborn sparrows strategically positioned on its iron fence net
like in the game of checkers
then glances over at a closed pigsty
and tries to count all the different qfwfqs
young magnolia tree he planted nearby
as a natural air freshener
to a small wooden outdoor toilet
waves its bookpressed fly wings and moth wings
and pearly Haribos which move in spasms
the babel tower of dung behind the byre
still holds the winner’s torch high above
Miss Hay Bale and Miss Corn Stalks
he notices his youngest boy
sprawled across the oak wood threshold
and shouts with a smile
What did I say about sitting on the thresholds?
If someone steps over you, you will never grow
do you want to stay a tiny boy?
Haruna smiles at him and dries her hands in the dunes of her skirt
he hugs her and feels the tanned skin of her hips
Mileva, get one of those piglets on the skewer this evening
And tell everyone that Perun is back
The King of Gypsies is back
Mileva silently enters the old house
and fights against the billowing vines that feed on plaster
the wall is crackled in many places like an old woman’s heel
so unlike the New House next to it
Which still smells like cement and fresh paint
there are two concrete lion heads yawning
at each side of a wide-grinned staircase
the Bejeweled ver. 3.0 entrance door
colored like a cluster of TV sets in a newsroom
it doesn’t look that inviting
but Perun struggles with the keylock
and helps deliver the fully-fertilized air
Help me with the bags
Where is Malvika?
She’s at school
One nobbly wobbly neighbor’s head greets them
as he rides his bike across the dirt road
but Perun doesn’t seem to notice
instead he looks at a carved out watermelon
abandoned at one corner like some old deflated rubber ball
pieces of flesh holding onto grass blades
and sun-bleached wooden bench
which he often occupied mornings
to take his coffee outside the house
is now chartered with black dots
there are even some seeds at the top
of a junkyard washing machine that
looks over the yard like some old chief
but perhaps Haruna wants to dry them and reuse them
Perun notices a pair of shoes bundled together
and sealed inside this Apollo 11
which never had its first launch
nor did these shoes, he thinks
the spaghetti reinforcement bars
vacuum packed building blocks
hoisted on a wooden panel
and a tsunami wave of gravel and sand
are still there, he checks,
the kids planted two bald barbies
next to an improvised sand castle
there’s even his silver SUV
only this is an empty sardines metal box
surrounded by an army of matches sticks
one two three four and so on
Perun takes one and puts it in its pocket
Hey, he is here?
He hears her approaching footsteps
Hi little one
What is it that you are hiding there?
it’s something good
and it doesn’t grow on trees.
You like it?
Yes, I want to keep it.
Who gave you this?
There was lots of food after our class
And she gave everyone something to carry home.
And you got a pineapple?
What are you going to do with a pineapple?
Are you stupid?
You can’t even open it,
It can be opened.
Give me that and go inside
C’mon I’ll be there in a minute,
Leave that here.
Perun rests the unwieldy fight bomb
on the hood of his car
and goes inside the Old House
which smells like stale milk and sodden bread
the linoleum is uneven and there are mud comas
between origamied shoes
a small chicken gobbles breadcrumbs from the table
and he chases it away
but doing so he sends quake waves
which spill a huge bowl of unskimmed milk
the thick liquid advances
but he’s careful not to step in
and slowly walks away.
King Perun is back, he is back, he is back