On the edge

seven o’clock:

According to the weather report

it will not rain today.

But the sun won’t shine either.

It is the first of October and

I am sitting – as usual on a park bench –

drinking myself into Tuesday:

Squirrels, crows, magpies, schoolkids and

dogs are passing me by.

I sit embalmed in a cloud of warm peace:

I have – almost successfully .

stopped worrying about

the impending doom I expect.

Instead I try to imagine

that even I could get happy

one of these days.

I approach my 50th winter;

I am of course reminded

of Shakespeare: “When forty winters  shall besiege thy brows”

(and dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s face etc)

but because I’ am a man

I refuse to play feeling alarmed,

i refuse to care about to care

about my coming to age.

I also reminisce Hoelderlin’s poem:

“Mitte des Lebens”

(in the midddle of life)

which feels so close to home now,

but I dream of the the latter’s

“Brot und Wein”,

sharing bread and wine

with my friends

in a garden

on the river Neckar,

watching the gold-red dawn rise

into the autumn of our lives.

How many friends are there left for me?

If I count dogs, too, it’s quite a plenty.

the bells of a near-by church

toll and I am trying not to think of of John Donne

(for whom the bells toll);

I hope not yet for me today.

There are still many mornings to come,

or so at least I hope. 😉


this is a comedy, please remember.

I need another beer.