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–Dear Friedrich, the world’s still false, cruel and beautiful…
Earlier tonight, I watched the Chinese laundry-man, who doesn’t read or write our language, turn the pages of a book left behind by a costumer in a hurry. That made me happy. I wanted it to be a dreambook, or a volume of foolishly sentimental verses, but I didn’t look closely.
It’s almost midnight now, and his light is still on. He has a daughter who brings him dinner, who wears short skirts and walks with long strides. She’s late, very late, so he has stopped ironing and watches the street.
If not for the two of us, there’d be only spiders hanging their webs between the street lights and the dark trees.
Charles Simic - The world doesn’t end
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