Espresso H/S

Bad vibes on a pretty day

with blue skies

like being on a Greek Isle.


The poet wakes into a good


cleaned window panes

cleaned bedsitter’s floor

a great deal of dust and grime

washed off yesterday

until late evening.


In spite of a clouded sky

strewn diamonds aglitter

on the dew-covered red car

in front of the bedsitter’s



The artist’s spouse in pain

asking for a pot of Illy-coffee

with a medium roast

she dearly has taken to.


Bus 239 filled to capacity.

High season for the tourists.

The air is thick and creamy

To be cut like a curded cake.


Mrs IRA at A/F already busy

with clever voluptuous Viki

while the poet sorts Mrs IRA’s

expense chits for two years

with stoic constant motions.


Mr T the jealous Skorpio will

send the poet for Italian

ice cream

to his fav shop around the

corner in Tuchlauben

he hates to visit personally

besides to greet the short

sympathetic blond woman

from polish origin.


Then as the chits are sorted

the poet takes off to deliver

two well-appointed letters

in the vicinity.

He feels like a piano player

who is told to have a second

pint of beer.


Thanks to Gösser Märzen

but he’ll get it only at the

cubicle of Espresso H/S

due to be 30 minutes early

for his direct bus departure.

Ice cold can.





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