Poem
Ann Cotten
THE ILL WIND PROMISES
THE ILL WIND PROMISES
THE ILL WIND PROMISES
When the oscillator hums, I’ll hold your handWhen they come to get you, I’ll pull you aside
When the engine purrs, I’ll find the right words
When the music stops, your lips may have to part
When your baby’s born, I’ll carry his name
When your mother visits, I’ll hide in your bed
When your husband comes by, I’ll turn up the music
When the party’s over, I’ll hand you your handbag
When you kiss me, I’ll stick a hand in your pocket
When your lover calls, I’ll braid your hair
When they come to get you, I’ll talk nonsense
When you’re dead and gone, I’ll smoke a cigarette
From: Florida-Räume
Publisher: Suhrkamp Verlag, Berlin
Published with kind permission of Suhrkamp Verlag
Publisher: Suhrkamp Verlag, Berlin
Poems
Poems of Ann Cotten
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THE ILL WIND PROMISES
When the oscillator hums, I’ll hold your handWhen they come to get you, I’ll pull you aside
When the engine purrs, I’ll find the right words
When the music stops, your lips may have to part
When your baby’s born, I’ll carry his name
When your mother visits, I’ll hide in your bed
When your husband comes by, I’ll turn up the music
When the party’s over, I’ll hand you your handbag
When you kiss me, I’ll stick a hand in your pocket
When your lover calls, I’ll braid your hair
When they come to get you, I’ll talk nonsense
When you’re dead and gone, I’ll smoke a cigarette
From: Florida-Räume
Published with kind permission of Suhrkamp Verlag
THE ILL WIND PROMISES
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