Common Ailment - Poem by Oskar Hansen
Eleven o´clock in the forenoon I had been to my
doctor and was going into the nearest cafe for
a coffee, but soon the city dwellers filled the place
with the smell of unmade beds, uncombed hair
and the despair of lonely nights. The fresh bun I was
eating absorbed it all and I could not eat it.
Many people live in cold rooms, have no gas and
kitchens are full dirty pots and pans.
Apathy sets in personal hygiene suffers, why bother?
Sleeping in the same beddings for weeks, socks and
underwear grimy and soiled, which results in fatigue
of the mind. Self-esteem is replaced by self-loathing,
unless someone speaks up or bangs pot lids together
their life will be short, empty of pleasure and light.
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