To have something to do
the attendant brushes up the pumps
In the forest it is already dark

Here it remains light, open
if you wait a few minutes
until he is out of bed

But that is no longer the case at night
The villagers refuel during the day
and long-distance traffic drives past

The economy keeps moving
The country, everyone, lives thanks
to the network (the concrete one)

and it may take some time
before it will be automated
Then occasionally someone will come

to spray the pumps clean
the fly spots will remain
and waxing will no longer be done

This year is a good year
The harvest is large, we can
hire more people
have our houses renovated

and buy by auction
an extra piece of land
the sellers make a profit
they laugh at all the money

from us farmers and from
the soldiers who came
back from the war with
honestly stolen wealth

They make everything more expensive
so that I am short of money and
have to sell my farm
This year is a bad year

Blockages at work
outages and oxygen deficiency
waste in the blood

The management focuses
on the future and closes
doors and windows against
mosquitoes and moths

Bypasses and bitter pills
do not help, so just one more
reorganization

We have meetings, hear each other
cackle, we croak our croak
play for time and hope and celebrate
the colleagues who say goodbye

I don't postpone it anymore
I will make my own way
create my own failure

My hands are still cleaning up
but my head is already absent
and I make beds in my heart
for those who are dear to me

I cut a hole to find a hole
water is flowing out
of the concrete, I cut into it
until I'm spent and then

I cut further, a larger hole
in the concrete, sorry dear neighbours
sorry for your ceiling too
but it's leaking and I can cry from it

that I can't put my finger in it
everything is arranged so well
with pipes and working faucets
which I, unfortunately, have to close now

it's a problem for all of us
I don't give up, I don't want to
be the owner of a leak
the dikes must be closed

I only have gathered a small pile
of recognition, as it happens
to everyone, but for all my effort

it is not right, I think, and even
there are people who don't understand that:
We love you, they say

What would we do without you!
But gratitude lasts short
and the wages are low

not to mention the talents
of mine, which no one wants
and the careless ease

with which what I do always
is just stored
before it's already cleared away

to keep it from getting dusty
Yes, thanks, thanks to me
building goes on!