Jan Oskar Hansen, PT
a bar, Bella Vista, in the sleepy town of
donkey wears a hat with holes for its ears, dozed.
Hot day, its serenity is endless. Around its closed
flies crawled. I’m kind to animals, waved my hand in
its eyes to get rid of the flies. The beast saw it
In the street only the donkey, me and the cruel
everyone else had sought refuge in the dark interior
Looked at the bar’s dark, cool interior, since the
care for my sympathy I limped back in there and had
A bar closed
Four in the morning
When I just want another
Before going home
To an empty flat
And a stuffed canary
In a dusty cage.
The consolation is
If I walk slowly
The Chinese grocer
Will be open
And he has got cold
Beer in his fridge.
When I Met Sir Cliff
once met Cliff Richard at a newsagent—
he bought a
which, makes sense since he is loaded?
Cliff smiled to everyone in the shop,
I did not, can’t see why I should smile
buying a newspaper.
That is the difference between us except
he can sing bland songs that are pleasing
to the ear and he has got hair. We spoke—
he was pleased to
have someone to talk to
who wasn’t an adoring fan. We drank wine, too
and I walked him home, he lived nearby.
He hadforgotten his keys to the gate,
but jauntily jumped over the wall.
And that was the last I saw of Cliff,
a slim bum disappearing behind a wall
to the top
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