DAS BOOT 1 Poem by Max Temmerman

for Tom Liekens & Stefan Serneels
A street dead-ends in my head.
Sitting in a chair, no sooner was my body bulging
than my shoulders were hunching to the ground,

to my hands that keep up with time. I clench them into fists,
my nails deep in my palms. It doesn't bleed.
And while that hurts, no-one can see.

A street dead-ends in my head. Like a workshy beggar
I look away from you. I am a ten-year-old boy that keeps an eye
on the slant of light. I count the vertebrae in my back.