tuesday morning, S-berg

Winter coughed rudely
In Schoeneberg’s face
Early this Berlin morning
It carried a cold, thick fog
Like a light gray carpet
On it’s icy shoulder
Past the whiskey bar
(Yes, there’s one right around the corner
On Eisenacher Strasse
We’ll be there tonight
Oh, don’t ask why)
Winter balanced the fog
Between Haupt Strasse and the clouds
And the fog hung there like a tank
Grimacing
Before Karstadt and Woolworth’s.
And then Winter moved on towards Friedenau
Looking back briefly
To whisper at me coldly, sweetly
“If you only understood me
You would love me more than Spring.”
/s

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