Box of Light

With blood fresh on his chin
The young man pushed through the carriage
Explaining that he was starving
His hand open before him
‘Bitte, Bitte, Bitte.’

A skinny boy saved us all
Produced a gold coin
Helped wipe the blood away
They shook on it
Then his skinny hand drifted down
To tangle the fingers of the quiet girl
With the diamond in her navel
As the train rocked

– 83 –

I spied on their secret caresses
Later we ate expensively
In a restaurant famous
For entertaining the apparatchiks
Of the former GDR.
When we'd paid, the proprietor
Also produced a coin
From yesteryear, worn thin

Which, dropped into a slot,
Made stiff little dolls dance
To the music of a scratchy violin
Inside a wooden box of light.