The red-white barrier never opens for
pedestrians, only for cars and theoretically for bikes,
usually not, or last minute: the moment
you are just about to crash into it, the pole suddenly rises, nearly
hitting your head, beep, beep, beep
turning right at the corner, my old
Esprit trainers move in unison with the invisible student rhythm,
before lesson, right in time/ too
late/way too late, so late, hurrying is not longer necessary
after lesson, shopping /
laundry/work/societies/meeting friends/going out-
I pass a fragile roof (Danger!)
and take a free pen from the bright
yellow jacket/weskit, CODE, 99
a week
Fletcher building on the right side,
I've never been in there
the pavement looks like a collage of
wrapping paper, cigarettes, something that must have been chewing
gum a long time ago and has slowly aggregated with the asphalt
surface, colourful flyers (CODE, 99 per week) as eye catchers-
'You can't make it spotless'
'See you tonight then.'
'Who cleans that window? How do they do
it?'
'...and then I just left him on the
dance floor'
Mansion Court comes in sight, with the
golden Emblem on top of it and a massive Penis in the window on the
third floor,
the wind is blowing in my face,
viciously reminding me of the two remaining months until spring,
I nearly lose my hat,
on the right side, it used to be the
Interlude,
Cocktails and sticky floor at night
time,
in the day, it was just a rundown
building, covered by iron railings,
now it's never night time there
I'm nearly on the bridge now, hands in
my pockets, forgot my gloves
a construction rail divides the sight
on the canal into squares-
'Why is it here?'
'Look, the dead pidgeon.'
 |
| ©K.M.Kalinowski |
'I'm so tired.'
Muddy brown water
rippling in the wind, a duck
tries to swim against the stream,
failing
swans, water-skiing
some are taking off, flying over my
head,
like Nils Holgersson
The smell of salt
is missing.
