When I see the stacked balconies

bright with petunias, begonias

I remember ‘balkon’ from German class.

We had to find an apartment

for a character in the textbook

from a set of ads. It must be under a certain price,

and must have a balkon.
Everything here is so neat and tidy, except the graffiti.

Today I see a smiling set of cutlery sprayed on a wall

with speech bubbles, reading

Have a knife day

See you spoon

Fork off
A balkon is desirable

because it is the only three square metres

you can cultivate

when you live in an apartment,

the only outdoors.
Last night I dreamed I was back in German class

which was strangely reassuring

although I had the wrong book with me

and was learning alongside primary school kids

who knew their genitive better than me.

I realise this is not a park for sitting in.

This park has a sole purpose – to walk through.

There are no seats.

And here I am, having failed to grow up,

one child with a bare bum lying in the grass,

the other roaming in the wild flowers.
I have my hair in braids, and have taken off my shoes.

I bought men’s sand shoes, thinking they might fit better,

and men’s socks. But they don’t.

I imagine them being worn by a man.

He would be neat and tidy,

and possibly somewhat creepy.

And you would want him to fork off.