Indrek Mesikepp

sadness is like the need to shit
whether you think about it or not
it still comes
wherever you are
whatever you're doing
sooner or later
you feel it
you might be at home
or at work
giving your all
or simply being
playing in the sand with your child
working at a lathe
loafing in the library
crossing the railway bridge
in Prenzlauer Berg
going to a gallery
in Kreuzberg

tottering down narrow
East End stairs
in a stink of mildew
tickets in your pocket
for a concert at the Astoria
or a third division match
drinking with friends
vodka from Estonia

spotting a rare Sisters’ record
in Camden market
on a muted grey mid-morning
or living from birth to death
among Virumaa forests
undesiring of anywhere else
encountering nature
the kind that you like
with a sweeping view of sea
of high red mountains
of forest or desert or bog

or a raging river of cars
between steep stone banks
waking next to the woman
that you love
opening your eyes
being happy
and content
and wishless
in a white bed

but before
the close of day
sadness and the need to shit both come
heaviness builds up in the body
unescapable and pressing
and natural

and it's not pretty