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.