My home is my coffin | Renate Schoof
A poem by Renate Schoof.
They like to hear that we stay at home.
That life takes place in our living room,
in the home office, online shopping,
telebanking, at the game console,
on the hamster wheel in our own cage.
Straw is supplied: Toilet paper, Coke and snacks.
Sign on, sign out, sign up – instant messaging.
Sidewalks have become parking lanes, the streets
expanded into multiple lanes for delivery services,
police patrols, for Mafiosi in noble cars.
Friends wave to each other via Skype,
the world outside waves to each other every now and then,
Front doors have long since been bricked up, as a precaution.
And yet: Madness-ridden traffic circles
with masks miss the street carnival.
Millions of followers find themselves awesome
with the usual safety distance
– not less than fifty kilometers –
they are all with a happy heart!
Even if they wanted to go out,
you have to admit, the dead feet
would not carry the rest anymore.
Thanks to the author for the right to publish the article.
Picture source: Zastolskiy Victor / shutterstock
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