RED POPPIES Poem by Miroslav Mićanović

A part of an arm and half a head
with one eye closed
stick out under a gray raincoat
in the thorn bush.

Field of red poppies
behind it.

Spring rain waters
a poor man, and he lays
asleep.

Drunkenness knocked him down
on his way back to
Bihać, and no one knows
when he came here.

The plains won't let him
leave, so he drinks
and knocked down lay
in the rain.

In summer and winter. In rainy
spring and cold autumn,
always the same.

Silent men
pass him by
on bicycles.

Women avoid him
far and wide, clucking
like hens.

Children with school bags
on their backs stand in wonder,
don't know what to do, and behind

a drunk, on his way to Bihać,
school choir of red poppies sing
in full bloom.