
you don’t have to turn to
salt and pepper for your dish
to be enhanced by ingredients
you are promised/but miss.
you just get to the bus station
and take the 400-bus to the
city of saints
its windows misted-up
by diesel fumes and salt –
diesel from animal bodies and
salt from the mountain mines
in the pretty salzkammergut –
so/ there’s no carefor cleaning off
the dirt and grime from the rattling
monster-capsules of tin
it rather feels to add a lot to the
general depression
witnessing a general desinterest and
ignorance/ carelessness all round.
the fresh-aired day with perfectly
sunlit skies
the world around in a mess –
clean-up folks/ clean-up and care.
care.erac
zoltanzelan
zjg poetry’21.
if you care for others you will feel much happier to enjoy life, no?