Verse 2
Jiři Slävøvic exited the concourse to a bright springtime day at JFK International Airport, exhausted and euphoric. He had never been on a plane before and after experiencing it he never wanted to be on one again. He was a man of mixed European ancestry and multiple fathers. A biological result of the great war, that Teutonic tumbling of dice that created modern Europe. He sometimes wanted to describe himself only as what he knew his mother to be, but his Slavic nature prevented this. Jiři’s mother was spawned by the hapless romance of two slain lovers from warring political factions. She never told Jiři which specific movements they were from, but their drive to martyrdom was something she regretted his not having.
He needed a father in his cultural recollection, if not in his l
