Tired Morning Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

tired morning


This morning a song from a film
filtered through my mind "what was it all for Alfie."
I had no choice but being born, played no part of the proceeding
but had to bear the brunt of the aftermath.
The emptiness of poverty, the view of the sunlight from an opposite wall
in a back yard.
The dread of the midnight flight, bare rooms, linoleum floor doomed to endless boredom, no expectation of a blue sky day.
We, children, played in the street a window broke, they, the boys, disappeared
so quickly I was left holding a ball that wasn't mine
the policeman was so tall, my denial was a tearful whisper my mother
had to pay, and she slapped my face. Yet there was a moment of happiness green grass and animals that I had to forego.
What is life for?
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