There Is No Poem by Vida Nenadic

There is no exit
from the birth home
from the libraries
from the JAT's planes
from the cold rooms
from... London.

There is no escape
from this cosmic hole
from the underground’s trains
from this tropic day
from the shopping center
from the Chinese restaurant
from the Tricycle theatre.

There is no way out
from the worn off trainers
from the fields with the plumb trees
from the gardens and the terraces
from the sleeping bags
from the woolen rugs
there is no escape for us.

This paddle is far too small
for all crocodiles.