PLAY! Poem by Rogi Wieg

Somewhere in a strange hotel, meeting your end
like lost property, nowhere, that's how they
found you. Oh, life is as crooked as the back
of an ancient Goddess of Justice - ‘Creator' if you will - who
was once born with a crooked back.
Perhaps even a U-turn, as bent as that,
though you never get back to where you began as a child.

You got to 2004, mild april. Began in 1968 in
the womb of mummy Maria, Mummy Theresa,
mummy, at any rate. And now? Do you know now
there's no law that can last for long?
You breathe, book a room and die too young.

Better if you'd fallen from a hotel window like
an ageing famous jazz musician.
So may Juan Manuel Fernandez Omez
long play his imaginary trumpet
in the imaginary hereafter of the Goddess of Justice -
‘Creator' if you will. Play!