Donnerstag.
the old man’d lean
from the window ledge,
like a town crier
with news to proclaim.
twice a week or so he’d ask
down to the world,
strange with its changes,
new faces.
passing, I’d shout up:
dienstag, donnerstag,
whatever it was and when.
I doubt he remembered me
amongst the faces,
but said it all the same.