Friday, 2 November 2007

SHOT NO 13, by Bertram Karrasch

To look at him is to see a wooden stool.

The traffic-light-bright yellow of the wooden seat dazzles the eye,

A big bottom torn from a clown's dress.

Four pins of wood underneath, like taken from a bowling lane - the legs.

They are novices to their new task.

Three legs are willingly holding and supporting the seat,

One is rickety, breaking out of the circle, secretly betraying his friends.

A subversive element he is.

He never liked to line up in formation, always wanted to be different.

He is still hesitating.

But one day, not now, one day, he will be a dissident.

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