Historic flood.
There are a few books unread on my
bookshelf and they will stay that way,
I needn´t read everything…printed.
My depression hangs in the landscape
streaks on dusty window panes tell me
the obvious: clean me now!
I wait for the pharmacy to open, after
lunch break, hope it is not full of women
talking about pills, illnesses and diets.
I´m not watching TV today I need not
know more about the storm every one
talks about…man, have I seen it worse!
Soon I will be stopped by a hero telling
me he was in NY during the histrionic
storm that made a governor legendary.
The apothecary should be open now,
better hurry and I don´t have to worry
what the newspapers say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem