Torbjörn Dahlander
The hospital
The hospital is in the middle of the field
The sun is like a life-jacket
on the horizon
and shoots crooked beams
at the grey building
You can stand at the edge of the woods
and see solitary elks
wandering to and fro
inside the windows
Now a door is opening
and a man is coming out
He is dressed all in white
He has a pile of plates in his hands
He has just eaten a radish
so he smells bad
it’s dreadful
He strides resolutely across the field
and vanishes into the woods
It happens every evening
 |
| Typestract - Russell Taylor |
Translated by Allan Burgis
Page(s) 95-96
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