Volker Wulle
Let's go through the streets,
with the last shirt that you went.
Let us not look down on the asphalt,
swallows of your steps.
scream your speechlessness in the cold.
Mr. H. was pleased with his purchase at discount stores.
A pack of lentils, carrots, a tin of herrings, a salami, which he had bought at half price, as the expiration date is almost reached.
It is enough for the next few days, thought is, it must be rich, no chance for more, forget it.
food as a luxury item.
H. shook his head. How pathetic
it is to this quest for the daily food ration that counting the money to be at least satisfied.
Today, on Friday, had H. for the food issue of the Caritas again can buy a pair of stocks.
just thinking about it froze inside.
H. heard the two voices in his head as they argued over whether this humiliation - of being a beggar - expose should.
I can not, "said H.
it would be him sick again if he tried gulping the refuse of society in itself.
A pack edible tear open, to then again be disposed of because of mold growth.
Not today.
Maybe next time when there is no other way.
stand in line to try to draw a number, while the body of the waiting crowd up without regard to the side.
yourself to tackle on their own feelings, contrary, to avoid being swept away in the hopelessness.
tears as the blood of the soul, thought, H.,
dreams as a food of the battered ego.
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