The others did it

An ideal spot for history is difficult to find.

The radio reports that traffic was severely hindered. Then

the uncertainty about the numbers.

What a nerve, beside the motion of the land

and the immobility of water

the shock a voice is coming forward from the background

telling us to keep our distance

and join the queue at the right till?

To then wake up on the ward.

Everywhere the rustling in forgotten phrases, waves behind the drapes

and water that laps against the beds.

Is speaking still allowed here

can I retrieve my voice from somewhere?

The captions make it all just too long ago, too far away.

Just when I, gesticulating wildly,

wish to confess to the day that I am out of place and drowning

there is nobody looking in my direction.