an old cloth and a tray of mackerels
Lover
The last drop of ink
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1
A cloth, a table
An old piece of cloth on an old table
An old piece of cloth folded flat on an old table
Sunshine flows in
Showing the cloth has three colours
Sunshine bounces
Off a military medal next to the cloth
2
The second-hand goods dealer
Has come to buy the old cloth
Better be dead than sell that old piece of cloth
He needs it for tomorrow
Looks round the kitchen
Empty shelves, empty rice pot, empty plate
Hasn’t eaten since dinner last night
Tomorrow’s National Day
3
His hair has just turned white
But his leg hurts since youth
He hobbles around
Indochina
The war against them French
4
Every year he sticks that cloth up in front of his house
When the wind blows, the old cloth flutters
And his memories come back to life again
The old cloth flaps and waves at the whim of the wind
A length of cloth that once fluttered over French dominion
An old cloth he washes every year
Since the day he was decorated for valour in the field of honour
5
‘What are you putting it out for?’ the dealer asks.
He does not answer. He doesn’t have to.
The dealer asks again: "Well, you’re going to sell it or not?’
His belly groans louder. ‘You traitor,’ he mumbles.
‘I’ll throw in a tray of mackerels, how’s that?’
‘No way! Over my dead body.’
He looks at the dealer
Looks round the kitchen
Empty shelves, empty rice pot, empty plate
6
Sunshine streams over
The empty table
Tells himself: ‘’Twas just a piece of cloth’
As he hobbles over to eat the mackerels