NIEUWE
KERKSTRAAT
The street is
silent. You like walking there.
It seems unlived
in, though, you ascertain.
‘No bread today’
a note says. You could swear
You’re in the eye
of some great hurricane.
You whistle all
the Marseillaise much louder.
Catch cholera.
Catch galloping consumption.
Level with
Top-Class Launderer ‘Van Buiten’
You glimpse a
shuffling tramp all of a sudden.
‘The end is
nigh,’ he cries. His babbles worsen.
He sputters
plegm. He really is a baddun.
You well know who
it is. It’s you in person.
Though you
pretend you don’t know him from Adam.
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