Madrason writer

(24-07-1967 / waalwijk netherlands)

Er Moet Brood Op De Plank


Dakloos,
als zachte
framboos
verstoten
door eigen
struik,
onbruikbaar
voor haar
mededogen
pletten ogen
met klem
en zetten
hen om in
potje jam.

Van achter
de ruiten
een dek-
seltje als dak
-maar onmogelijk
te dwalen
door de stad-
ben je plat
geperst
voor de rest
van je leven
verdoemd tot
aan boterham.

Broek omhoog,
houdt het droog,
er moet brood
op de plank,
met dank
aan Hero
of zo
of misschien zelfs
aan Nero
de tolk voor het volk.

En nu Gauw weg, daar komt een donk're wolk!


Madrason 28-05-2013

Submitted: Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Edited: Thursday, May 30, 2013

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Madrason 28-05-2013

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