Kunze Heinz Rudolf
The Difficult Courage
Seventh of July morning
Seventh of July morning.
Circled by lawn mowers
and the panting of coffee machines
unemployed young teachers,
/>who are writhing naked at the kitchen table and
choking on their twosomes, children
screaming in the distance,
like the last signal of a train heading south,
just before it arrives the tunnel of Duerrenmatt
enters, the tunnel with no exit,
the tunnel directly to the center of the earth.
The housewives look like rear-end accidents,
the tone of their slander
sounds like Emergency braking
with a few commas in between.
Grandma cuts the front garden hedge mischievously
a punk hairstyle.
Every country gets the weather it deserves,
like on earth, So also in heaven:
Nothing but missed opportunities.
Nothing happens here anymore.
Here everything is always divided,
half-half, on the one hand-on the other,
balanced, lied away, shared joy,
doubled suffering,
people hold their genitals to the wind
and ask for juicing,
they take refuge in their private churches
and some call them tranquilizers
nor wafers,
no one is irreplaceable,
everyone is a superstar,
everyone is tired from morning to night,
no wonder,
because it's always too late.
How do you do that - live? How
do they manage to do that? I mean,
one rocket per capita,
it weighs a lot,
that it doesn't push everyone to the ground immediately,
it's amazing. We are the master race after all,
I know, this opinion is currently
popular again, but so be it, we can take it,
and with the suicides, dropouts,< br/>Peace fetishists
There's certainly something wrong somewhere
with the family tree.
Seventh of July morning. Early puberty bedwetters
polish their motorcycles sparkling clean,
just like daddy's BMW.
In the cassette recorder
the Neue Deutsche Welle is roaring,
the oil plague of music,
with their millions of sticky,
suffocated ear cups.
What do these children think about at night?
We had back then
With umbrella, charm and bowler hat and above all
Emma Peel , and each of our dreams
began with the noise
of the zipper of their
black crumpled varnish battle suit...
today the hollow-cheeked,
gluten-eyed boys only have the
left br/>Muppets Show,
Miss Piggy,
Pigs in Space.
I don't want to be younger than I am.
If I could do it all over again,
>I probably wouldn't do anything.
And if I hide under the table now
and stay absolutely still
someone will definitely call immediately
and ask me
how I'm fine.