Enga mellom fjella

This is another note I will not send

[This is another note I will not send]

Over the judder of tires crossing brick,
the squeal of no-name techno-jazz,
life screams inside me
and I'd scream back
if I had a voice.
Your voice in my ear
drowns out this so-called dawn,
the brightening gray of a day in mourning.
I hear it in the seagull's squawk:
go away, far away.
But no complaints come out of you.
What can you do, you say.
Even your disenchantment
rings with laughter.

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.353] 2008-11-25

I was speaking with a friend.When I asked how he was, he said, "No complaints, what can you do." The initial prompt was "This is another note I will not send" which is its provisional title.

ME:

The trip was okay, but tiring. I did get a chance to chat (partially in French; I don't speak Bambara) with a man from Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso.Wiki-link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bobo-Dioulasso

I collected autumn leaves in downtown Seattle yesterday, noted the cyclamen in bloom. I drank a large nuttella mocha (cost me $5.15) at Seattle Coffee Works.

The market was just opening. I watched the men shave off ice with a shovel, looked at the silver glisten of salmon, inhaled the aroma of fish.

Found out where the apartments are for senior citizens. They are in the old LaSalle above the market, a former hotel that once was a brothel.

PHOTO:



Seattle's farmer's market on a grey November morning.

Washington: 40.2º at 10:00.

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