on the square: eleventh rendering

My friend is following me
He is picking up the pieces
Just in case they lead

To a conclusion laughs
The moment
The story enters

The boredom
Comes upon you
My friend is not

Alone in this activity
I’ve simply picked him out
For special attention

Shined a spotlight on him
He’s certainly not someone
I could hold a conversation with

About anything more
Than cleaning products
Is he clean? Undoubtedly

I’m often asked by people
How I put up with
The constant fussing

It’s not constant
For one thing and
I’m flattered

It’s nice to have someone
To pick up after you
He watches me keenly

Like a Judas-character
And when I stumble
There he is.

Will I do
As I promised
After a serious bout

Of his interest
Like an infection
And leave him

Everything? One
Doesn’t know
The yard is empty today

The square, there’s
Absolutely nobody
To talk to. I’d always hoped

To make a great number
Of figures without a

I suppose
This is it,
A stockyard.

I haven’t been able
To get outside it,
I don’t know who today has.

(It would be terribly nice
To have someone
To talk to.)

He watches me stumble
Again and then again
On the way

To my conclusion
With the other figures

Wearing his red armband
Like a character in a play
Who has dressed up as a Nazi

The stupid thing is
It would take a moment to cross
To him and tell him I know

With a kiss: I want dreadfully to do so
But it seems I have to go on stumbling
Like this for ever (I yearn for someone

To tell me where I go wrong!) Swastika
Armband notwithstanding and also that
A Nazi-character will shoot a stumbler

He makes the offer with his eyes
He smiles at me, no: his mouth is open
As if he’s giving an order

I hurry on like a painted coquette
Tottering flirtatiously
What a tease!

While secretly desiring him
Who conscientiously
Forbears to do so

To find my friend
My brother
That strength

To beat me down
Beyond the point
That I should feel

And to pick up
Whatever is left
After feeling.

Because that way it’s easier
That way they can say of me
When I reach my end

He didn’t give a damn,
Did he? And throw my body
In the gutter.