melancolie

Melancolie

The August heat is hotter than other summer months
more lethal going in for the kill, 
The olive trees gasp, bark crackles and leaves hang 
lifeless, but the sun keeps on shining 
I think of Norway. to be back to my hometown run
down to the park and remember the joy when 
Stavanger became a modern town Cafe Alexander
where one could have  a pint of beer without eating
a sandwich that has been the norm
The idea was to stop people from drinking alcohol 
that was, in our narrow-minded society, a great sin 
there were other places to go on a Friday, say
Inter cafe, but to get in after nine, you had to be a friend
of the doorman who wielded immense power but 
was open for a bribe 
Then there was a place called "Hunters Lodge." always
full, the dominating waiter at the inn, grew wealthy 
taking bribes, keeping order his way, believing in
free enterprise.
It often rains in my hometown, and I refuse to carry 
an umbrella, which is a defeatist sign giving into
the vagary of the weather. 
As I walk on steep streets, I remember how sad I was
feeling like a loser and not finding  the tune, I knew 
was there only to get old and understand that I had
demanded too much of life, the not obtainable  
perfection