the girls were young
and worked the
streets
but often couldn’t
score, they
ended up
in my hotel
room
3 or 4 of
them
sucking at the
wine,
hair in face,
runs in
stockings,
cursing, telling
stories…

somehow
those were
peaceful
nights

but really
they reminded me
of long
ago
when I was a
boy
watching my grand-
mother’s
canaries make
droppings
into their
seed
and into their
water
and the canaries were
beautiful
and
chattered
but
never
sang.

de fankes en de fûgels

de fankes wienen jong
en tippelen op ’e
strjitte
gauris hienen
se gjin klanten,
einigen dan
yn myn hotel
keamer
3 of 4 fan
harren
sloarpjend fan ’e
wyn,
hier yn ’t gesicht
omdjoeiend yn
nijlons,
flokkend, ferhalen
fertellend…

dochs
wienen dit
fredige
nachten

mar eins
dienen se my tinken
oan lang
lyn
doe’t ik in jonkje
wie
eagjend nei beppes
kanarjes
hoe’t dy
yn it sied
skieten
en yn it
wetter
en de
kanarjes wienen
prachtich
en
tsjetteren
mar
songen
nea.… Lês fierder