Lack of sleep makes her
kick about
it also hails the poet
with arrows of scorn
albeit his efforts
to assist with good deeds.
But early morn’
queuing up at Dr.W’s rooms
to have a head start
for being looked after.
B – for her cystitis
Z – for problems in his ears.
The estranged spouse
sleeping at times with open
windows
is not becoming the poet
while Mrs B thrives.
Does she really?
The mineral water from
Jamnica
has fired up her senses
as she loves the product
but is annoyed with the
attitude of the
Medical doc’s secretary.
Now why wanted she get
me involved in her matters
in the first place?
Unfortunately she’s sick
in her soul
can’t get enough attention
and fulfilled favours yesterday
All forgotten today.
The poet writes away.
Downtown the temperatures
are more fair.
Viki talks self-assured
taking queues from famous
Parliamentarians.
But more so what’s amiss?
Mr T buys a croissant for
Mrs B
he takes another cheese bun
to change his 100 Euro note.
Then hands me 35.
Well I stopped querying the
amounts
In the end Mrs IRA will be
called upon to act as
Deus ex machina.
It’s difficult writing on the bus
but my thoughts are pushing me
to do so.
A black man enters bus 239.
World wide people push for
social justice.
I wonder
having received
human rights herein.
Austria – will Mr Black man
Integrate?
Whose tolerance levels have
not yet been tested?
The poet had lived for three
decades on lands of the
African South –
Afrique du Sud –
collecting good knowledge
on land and people
Apartheid and freedom
race and religion.
A plea by president Mandela
for a common spirit in belief
of the ‘Rainbow Nation’.
Unfortunately his party
did not respect him enough
to give him the chance
for a second term lead.
Today Thursday.
The poet needs to finally
get his olive oil from Crete
as agreed beforehand at
the Naschmarkt – Vienna’s
big marketplace.
However Mr T insisted on
writing the last batch of
sponsor letters as priority.
There would be time though
for the poet to walk to the
Spice Corner afterwards.
Viki seemed more agile
annoyed about this silly adding
and removing text and DVD’s
from the readied mail.
Where is your list? Mr T wanted
to know.
The poet packs and unpacks
hHis pages upon pages of lists
of potential sponsors with
addresses, just to check if he’d
missed some.
It’s all in there the poet announced.
Let me see! Mr T demands a copy
of the list
but he can’t read it
looking for days for his reading
glasses.
Oh fine. He says handing back
the lists to the poet
who dreams of a racy woman
looking at her mind as much as
at her body.
A couple appears. A Swede with
a Spanish woman.
The poet becomes stressed with
Mr T’s demands to hand him some
artefacts from the time during
WWII
explaining the paintings of his Dad.
The friendly couple pays for the
purchase of DVD and catalogue
and they leave with Mr T to
visit Café Hawelka
while the poet waits with a cup
of coffee he made himself.
He gives up on the idea going
to the Gewürz-Eck today.
At ten past six pm he steps into
the U1 at Stephansplatz.
Changing to the U4 train at
Schwedenplatz
he arrives in good time at
Heiligenstadt
to take the 241 bus to Weidling.
At provisional home Top 5
B talks of her day continuously.
He listens preparing his supper:
Sandwiches – cheese and onion
Green tea.
Slowly he relaxes.
Spouse B goes to bed early
while the poet works on until
11:30 pm.
Then he hits the sack.
Tomorrow he’ll go for his
Cretan olive oil and a bag
of Chinese Goji berries.
OLIVE OIL.LIO EVILO
zoltanzelan
©ZJG-POetry’17.
