Day’s End

Not all days run at a general ease

But some are jinxed indeed.

The bank card not found

Has to be claimed lost.

Well then there’s need to chill

At a typical Viennese Café.

Yet as some Furies are on the


Direct powers of a great Muse

Had not been switched on this

Peculiar day.

An order of espresso macchiato

Is not served everywhere as


So hunt for the near ideal

Italian taste

Your palate still recalls.

The poet meets a writer friend

In Café Prückel

A place bustling with a hub.

The waiter lacks Viennese humour

But even he’s from a neighbouring

Country one thought that this city

Has still a ‘Golden Age’- tradition

For central Europe’s melting pot.

The poet tight on funds has to

Fork-out the total bill

The writer offers one of his pens

A kind of tradeoff between pals

Who’ll engage in common dreams?

The poet recalls all his grand losses

Of a topsy-turvy past with an

Innermost sigh.

Only the day before the poet has

Annotated Art-Repro’s for Mr T.

Until the artist of survival sank into

His comfy couch and fell asleep.

The poet had left behind his black

Journal poetry book as he left

The roof apartment on silent feet.

It’s hard today to find Vittel water

But lots of other stuff loaded with

Minerals and gases one doesn’t

Really need.

At least a spark of a thought that leads

The tired poet to his knapsack

Stored below his writing desk

Where he retrieves his glasses buried

Below his walking gear.

Some mint tea! A good night’s sleep

Is all he’ll need as a final offing?

Music by Satie from his headphones

Cuts out the word rushing bye upfront

On Main Street Weidling at the feet

Of the Viennese Woods.

Day’s End.



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