Dat Hometown Poem(Yerevan) - Nare N.

They say when my city was cool Paris was just a village.
Guess it's been a while.
It gets sadder every time I return.
And I dream of horizons that don't end at all with biblical mountains,
of evenings that don't get stuck in my hair as pub smoke.
I know everyone in Calumet tonight,
half of the crowd at Hemingway's.
Forget-me-not badges:
We never got over the whole genocide thingie.
"My best friend's Turkish" or how to cheat on a city.
And Abovyan street should really stop
screening horrorshow flashbacks
from the time she was mine.
Not a long time at all.
Almost nothing.
Compared to how long this city's been around.