Michael Benjamin Michael Benjamin

he’s preparing his bike

for his daily ride

puts in the battery

carefully

then slowly slips on

a yellow vest

and his helmet

i sit in the shade

drink some coffee

we sing together

a different song today

hotel california

in between verses

he talks about

his time in india

how he grew up in tibet

and how his family

couldn’t afford school

we start singing the chorus

welcome to the hotel california

it’s paradise here

as a pensioner

he says

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Michael Benjamin Michael Benjamin

in my backyard

lies a dead pigeon

again

it‘s not the first time

birds come here to die

next to the run down yellow facade

a tiny graveyard

without the ceremony

it just lies there

i give it a name

luke

a bit late

but maybe it would have liked it

a tiny sparrow

flies full speed

against my neighbour‘s window

and again

then it flies away

i don‘t give it a name

not yet, sparrow

not yet

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Michael Benjamin Michael Benjamin

a few rooftops

three people

on three different rooftops

some pigeons

sitting in the sun

at a safe distance

one is reading a book

another one drinking coffee

i’m up here for a smoke

the wind is making

the city sing

on this quiet sunday morning

the church bell rings

every now and then

a mom yelling at her child

she left her window open

i hear the news from a distant tv

and i

keep listening

to the windchime

singing behind me

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Michael Benjamin Michael Benjamin

almost sold out

the city is slowly waking up

even in this quiet summer month

i feel a few raindrops on my skin

i look up

the sky looks bright though

a pierced man with a tiger tattoo on his neck

is carrying empty bottles through the street

for the lebanese restaurant next door

the owner greets me

hey mike, how are you doing

he looks a little older than i remember

tired somehow

there is the mailman

he greets me as well

you should really put your name

on your door

he says

i still don’t

the bakery is open now

it’s rare somehow i think

or maybe i just don’t sit here usually

i get a croissant

one of the last ones

they are about to close again

almost sold out

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Michael Benjamin Michael Benjamin

11 am

at the bus stop near the lake

an old man sits

with a few cans of beer beside him

he blasts Fleetwood Mac

through a crappy speaker

and sings even louder

a couple looks over

they don’t bother hiding their laughter

then cross to the other side

an older woman

slightly embarrassed

looks away

but something in her softens

even the bus driver

at the wheel

doesn’t look over

just waits till it‘s time to leave

i know that song

i start singing too

a woman next to me

hums along quietly

‚thunder only happens when it’s raining‘

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