Nines
Lag: Helgi Briem, Valgarður Guðjónsson Texti: Valgarður Guðjónsson
There’s a hole in the wall
and a hole in James’ last heartbeat.
Iris has cards and a poker in her chest.
Once in a while a passenger arriving
will dial the local news.
Bernard would help,
but Bernard’s mind is absent,
as well his brain that decorates the walls.
The only breath left belongs to Auntie Paula
still silent with her nines.
It’s a big old school
locked in all their memories
filled with books and arts
and with random antiques.
For this week the only
crowd there staying
are some pretty, pretty
passengers from Idaho.
And the blue backroom there
is filled with spirits.
Some from bottles left
from the days of gambling.
Some from persons playing
for their fortune
leaving pretty, pretty
bodies lying underground.
Paula broke down,
she’s smiling and she’s crying.
Her face as drama masks in red and white.
She turned to my dad,
“This one came from Vegas,
and the last jackpot is mine”.
Playing for keeps, but mostly for their losses.
One can be saved, the rest’s down anyway.
Every card, every hope,
every dream of one more future
went Paula’s way that night.
með því að halda sinni hönd.