by Jan Oskar Hansen

The Oncoming

On the wall in my room a temporary sunlight

valiantly struggles with a shadow, or perhaps

they are dancing a slow waltz: see a tiny bust 

on the bookshelf of Johann Straus, who spent 

the last ten years of his life moving from town 

to town in hopes of escaping death.

I look out the window on a river of cars and 

a bank, outside of which is an expensive car illegally 

parked. A patrol car slows but doesn´t stop as 

the car oozes economic power; stops instead 

near a cyclist and an officer tells him to use the road 

not the pavement.

Waltz is over and a rough sea slams against 

the porthole, I must have been dreaming or is it 

my past and future that dance macabre?

The Usury

 

There is a new shop in town buying gold, they

even buy gold teeth, family gems and pearls.

They have set up shop in the hall of the supermarket

with black and gold decorations, promising best prices;

perhaps they have a dentist at hand to extract

your gold fillings.  Levantines, always ready to

exploit the unfortunate.  And they are blind to

your distress and sorrow. Dark, cold eyes they

have and to compound the problem they make

you feel sadness for their past sufferings.