you are a little horse wagonwith bells on it –merrily tripping horse –the sun glittersin the red face of the driver,white lilacs –happy peoplebabble –men and cigars,wives with coffeeand thermos –Sunday,naturally –
Gustaf Munch-Petersen: old mothers
– heavy, large, swayingwith thin, cold coatsthe mothers rock into the milk sales,the food courts,the clothing shops –– hasty gazes into oilcloth bags,glossy bags with many five cents,two cents,twentyfive cents –sighing glances in light wallets –careful questions:if there wasn’t something cheaper,smaller […]