serge gurkski
Mitglied
a by-product of my prose series in ''Fingerübungen"
The bus spits out the working mass,
while our man rests on a bench; he doesn’t
pay attention to those passers-by:
Work-folk. Thinks highly of them and
the higher the lower of himself.
A couple of doves fighting
their overweight, but failing
of course, approach him.
He, huffy and bored, feeds them
crumbs of white bread soaked in Rum.
They share a farewell kiss,
beak to beak, fall
down - and immediately - asleep.
He gets up; It is high time
for nothing.
The bus spits out the working mass,
while our man rests on a bench; he doesn’t
pay attention to those passers-by:
Work-folk. Thinks highly of them and
the higher the lower of himself.
A couple of doves fighting
their overweight, but failing
of course, approach him.
He, huffy and bored, feeds them
crumbs of white bread soaked in Rum.
They share a farewell kiss,
beak to beak, fall
down - and immediately - asleep.
He gets up; It is high time
for nothing.