Votum and Greeting
Bury me in the worn wooden benches and cover
my grave with cushions and songbooks--choose an
unintelligible text--about the drunkards of Ephraim,
whose glorious ornament is a falling flower, which there
is on the head of the very fat valley, of the smitten by
wine: for smitten am I, and not just by wine, and my
valley is fat no more, not like it used to be--dust slips
like loose sand between my fingers and is lost forever.
At the end of the day, God comes by with pizza and
a couple of six packs, and explains that he didn’t mean
it all to be this way. Which of course doesn’t help me
much now, and he knows that, but he is genuinely sorry.
He finishes his beer far too quick and falls asleep on the sofa
snoring, and I hear him thinking: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like this.
Author: Enno de Witt
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