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Susan Boyle

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Vienna. The Judenplatz

that two idle waiters under an awning are conversing quietly

also

that a man in a white suit with black shoulder bag and dog,
a white and black Pomeranian,
has taken the table adjacent to mine but just out of the sun
and is sending body signals that he would very much welcome
an encounter with an attractive younger person of either sex

also

that the pair of upright old style bicycles
are leaning as one object on the painted wall of the Schneider house
pedals and handlebars interlocked like lovers’ fingers
their commingled shadows
the intricate but meaningless artistry of that

also

the armed guard
the way she conveys that waiting at the door
of a scarcely visited museum in the only dark corner
of an almost deserted square is very dull
her nice young face still with its bit of plumpness
her pistol, her automatic weapon, her two-way radio

also

that it has not been forbidden
for North American college students to picnic
on the low plinth of the Holocaust Memorial
where one has displayed his lunch on the engraved names
Dachau, Flossenburg, Gross-Rosen
and another for greater comfort has removed his shoes
and is stretching and flexing his strong legs,
his buttocks on Auschwitz, his thighs across Bergen-Belsen

also

that the air in this city has retained the imprint
of not one person’s passing
nor do these stones -
though they might have been expected to -
cry out

also that, meine Liebe,

also that.

 

 

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