URGES (NO CONTROL)

I

He threw back one hamburger after another
and stuffed the fries down his gullet,
proclaimed through his chock-full mouth:

“I have little to no control of my urges!”

He then snatched the landlords youngest daughter
tweaked her nipples,
“beep! beep!” he spluttered
and smeared his ketchupy lips
all over her face, wheezing.


II

Yet again he snatched the landlords youngest daughter, unseamed her clothes
with his thick non-filtered fingers and through the zipper
of snow-washed jeans the hairy privates of a woman farted like
Sylvester the cat belches.

From within two three feathers fluttered
and the privates blushed with shame.


III

Hand me the woman
he hollered over the dinner table,
spitting out the remains of a cuntbone.

Hand it yourself,
the woman said and scratched her firy groin,
you good-for-nothing bum.

Translated from Icelandic.
Previously unpublished.