Old Soldiers Cafe Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The old soldiers Café

We went to my favoured restaurant it is no longer so,
on a table near us sat a group of Ukrainians eating plenty
of meat with sausage and the server said there was no more left
so we lunched on a dish I wasn`t keen on.
Eight of them men with brutal faces and as the wine flowed
they spoke about the war and killing Russians.
Two of them looked like assassins, those with long knives
who kill silently in the night, eating the food I wanted.
My wife said I was fantasising they were workmen who
had left their country to seek employment elsewhere I was not sure.
My food didn't look as good as theirs, so we left early and
I didn`t eat my food left the glass of wine untouched in a futile
attempt to show my dislike, but no one noticed.