Monika
Tonight I observe, you've had your blonde hair
shown. A criminal act. I'm confused.
But I congratulate you- and myself for noticing.
I order a beer downing it with relish.
Mochtest du noch eins, Johannes?
Ja bitte, Monika. Worless, I drink the second glass
to your eyes opeed wide and lit up. I drink
to the expressive lift and fall of your arm
and shoulder; the silken loiter and tilt of your
breasts mouthing not one tiney word of apology
for their insolece, the proud sensual hint
of line and bulk-
Sorry? I ask. You look at me in wonderment.
I've not caught a single word you've said!
And this evening, in the cosy Yugoslav Kneipe in
Nachod Strasse, I greet Horst, Auto Mechanic
working for VOLVO. I say: Guten Abend, to Frau
Richter & her Dog, and a couple of others whose
faces I've got to know after a few visits.
Monika, you enfold all with you vivacity & celan.
In a twinkle of an eye, a wave of an invisible
wand, re-make of each, a fashion Princess all aglow,
a tipsy King- on his night off as a Maintenance
Fitter on teh Lake Ferry, a Frog changing quite rapidly
into a Prince (me)- a fugitive Queen with a spark-up
singing a Country & Western old one:
Theer goes mah reason for wantin' you, theer goes mah ev'ra
THA-ING
And the Queen, unable to go on, is just about ready now to
do a Royal Chunder (not a dance) abandoning all,
Her Crown, Her Common Lover, Her Royal Ring-
Monika, Monika, you defer to each their own private
space to savour of survery hunger or thirst
nail-polish or navel, friend, future enemy or lover.
Johannes, you like strong German beer, ja?
Ja! Strong German women, too, mit hairy mussels
smoked Aale, raw herrings: wunderbar!
Bring mir alles, bitte- mit Salat. Ich lievbe dich.
Ja, ja... Johannes. 1st schon gut.