the former cement worker
like fate
in convict stripes
sorting, gluing
shoe shops
wall without end
with the summer cluster
soap is
‘he’ll freeze’
the cold all year
in bed at the back
offspring, twelve
first the queer, now the reds
Franz says
good fortune to misfortune
this egg whisk
happiness, outcry
always the same sun
the Jews on Minx Street
asphalt doesn’t melt in winter
