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.