For fifty minutes he drives westward on his scooter
to get his face tanned, and then turn and drive
fifty minutes eastward to tan his back. He does not
even stop this exhilarating journey for a cold beer.
Not many cars on the road, which is good as his
elderly body is exposed and his skin pores absorb
nature around him, store it in the form of memory
for days when it is cold and he is stuck in the house.
Farmers on their tractors and grazing cattle used to
stop and stare, now see but not see him.
A slow moving ghost shimmering over asphalt; it is
said without him it will be a rainy summer, crops
will rot on the ground, tractors suffer mechanical
breakdowns and cows will stop yielding milk.
Comments about this poem (holy ghost by oskar hansen )
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