By Alfred Lichtenstein
… And all the streets lie smooth and shining there.
Only occasionally does a solid citizen hurry along them.
A swell girl argues violently with Papa.
A baker happens to be looking at the lovely sky.
The dead sun, wide and thick, hangs on the houses.
Four fat wives screech in front of a bar.
A carriage driver falls and breaks his neck.
And everything is boringly bright, healthy and clear.
A gentleman with wise eyes hovers, confused, in the dark,
A failing god… in this picture, that he forgot,
Perhaps did not notice – he mutters this and that. Dies. And laughs.
Dreams of a stroke, paralysis, osteoporosis.
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