Budapest’s caves are the least scary thing

Budapest’s caves are the least scary thing about the city.

I would rather sit in the echoes of an underground amphitheater
With my headlamp turned off
Than tour the brightly lit decadence
of Viktor Orban’s illiberal parliament.

I would rather bonk my head and
let a scab form beneath the stalactites
Before passing the recently erected bust of Miklos Horthy
In Freedom Square.

I would rather be frightened
by a golem-spirited caving guide
Than have my Jewish quarter tour guide
slander the Roma.

I would rather squeeze uncertainly
through holes just larger than my head
Before I would zigzag through the House of Terror Museum
to its stress inducing soundtrack.

I would rather beg to be pulled out by my feet
to get my lungs unstuck from a crevice
Than jaywalk across the busy road that separates the city
from its memorial to Jews murdered in the Holocaust
Shoes on the Danube.

I would rather have the zipper on my caving coveralls
chafe at my chin
Before I would want to hear another reference to Hungary’s Ottoman history
As “barbaric.”

I would rather help my classmate through a claustrophobia induced
subterranean panic attack
Than read news about growing support
for the Jobbik party.

I would rather a boulder tumble to block the cave exit
Than have to leave the bravery of youth and progressive passion
That pulses in Budapest’s arts and nightlife scene
as the doors to Simpla bar eventually close
Each night after last call.

Kayleigh Kleiva

CHID major making little things a big deal.