Man of the City

Put red crosses all over my calendar

jam my luggage

til ‘tis too heavy to heave

I wanna be sure I won’t leave

Prepare hot meals

anything warm

for our factory-stomachs

let us first lounge & rest

in the shade of our jungle-lounge

hidden away from the omnipotent eyes

of our western lives.

Let us escape within our screens:


TV shows,

let us be pixel-sized,

we want our heads

to be in a maze

& not know the way in from the way out.

Drag us on Saturday afternoons

with our rebellious legs that supposed to bring us some place

and brought us somewhere else

for the scheduled shopping

Give us the conditioned liberty

to sip on a good wine

to slip on a wet smile

& that’s enough

to make our nails flat

to leave us lying on the side of the road

dazed & with the only desire

to have a long smoke on the clouds

& leave all our promises behind

O Man of the city…

I see you’ve been left dazed without even the strength

to say 'Yes!' or 'No!' anymore:

and your path is tramped on by someone else’s footprints

and all your decisions left to someone else

anyone else

because you don’t want to think no more

and you have rebellious legs

but faithful brains

robotized to nod and agree on everything until…

you see booze oozing out from the bankers’ lips


you see booze oozing out from the insurance cops’ armpits


you see booze oozing out from the clerks’ extra-hours’ smiles


you see booze oozing out from the pimples of sad-smirking already condemned teenagers


you see booze oozing out from the teachers’ drooling lips


the whirlpools of yesterday feel like déjà vu today.




you’re slandering along the schedules of insanity advertised on every bus stop,

tagged on every wall of every city,

informing you when you can be mad

& when it's forbidden to be

& some other things too

things of more or less importance

things you don't see anymore

things that would take yyour up


u s eo g



tor andn

things that would rollercoaster your dizzy-tired worker’s mind

things that used to make you frown

& raise the fists of the cracked insane young

you used to be

About the Author

Horia Pop

Horia Pop used to work as a librarian, as an English teacher, and has been a factotum for farms and factories while traveling. I still try to travel and meet as many diverse people and write then on it.