Albert Hagenaars

The scouring of the canvas against gravel
and now and then the saturated sound
of ships and trucks passing without her.
It grows dark in my tent on the Rhine,
where everything is drying to be saved:
Thyssenhaus, Königsallee, Krimhilde,
but even more the nameless hitchhiker,
suddenly a heavily painted woman hunting
for gold and revenge in this wakeful night.
In excessive rains of regression, she floods
all my banks again, drowning me
in a score of lust. Sucking her mark.
Translation: Catherine East
From the collection CURFEW
WEL-Publications, 2000.