Poetry by Tara Skurtu

Separation

On the centennial
Great Union Day

of your country
you’re at 100 Beers

you are your father
and his father say

you don’t have
an alcohol problem

you have a
childhood problem

you piss
in your hands I came

to your country
for you I left

you in your country
on the boulevard

of your ancestors
where a man pulls

his bus to the curb
opens the doors and

reaches out the head
of a dirty mop to

loosen the blue yellow
red flag caught

in a rearview mirror.