Posh Avenue Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Posh Avenue

posh avenue


Beautiful avenue big trees on both sides lend dignity to palatial homes,
tall walls with broken glass on top and silence. Yet it is the wrong kind
of hush like a solid melancholy that April days are unable moderate.
This wide avenue has little traffic except for patrol cars driving up and
down protecting the values of houses that are empty and gloomy.
These dwellings are bought as an investment for rich foreigner, who can
use them as a bolt hole if the situation in their own countries wears
towards a revolt by the people tired of odious kleptomaniac affluence.
Homeless people sometimes try to break in to one of the houses
the dream is to sleep under silky duvet hot shower and scented soap.
Alas, there is no hot water, all is turned off and the mattress is bare.
the night in the splendour of immense room is a cold and lonely as
the intruder waits for the rain to stop so he can flee to freedom of
relative poverty, food banks and supermarkets´ out of date yogurt.