Thursday, 21 November 2013

A poem by the Dutch writer
Martin Reints

Old meeting room

On the pushed-together tables
stands a tray with cups

a glass bowl with sachets of milk-powder
a glass bowl with sachets of sugar
and a packet of tea-bags

thermos flasks, cabinets from a distant past
a flap-over fallen into disuse like

an easel in the south of France
where the air shimmers with the heat
so that the cypresses look like filmed cypresses

an empty, undulating landscape with stone walls
and desolate country cottages

museums with old attendants on folding chairs and
successful directors who
walk past while looking at the paintings

cars in car parks
school buses with schoolchildren.

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