Laconic Teutonic
To cross the street Herr Biedermeyer
made a firm election:
the spot was safe – Gefahrengasse -
strictly one-direction.
But, looking south and stepping out,
he got a sharp surprise:
a car, approaching from the north,
was hidden from his eyes.
It knocked him in the air, and soon
had sped away and gone.
Herr Biedermeyer had a lot
to muse and ponder on.
No bones were broken, no blood shed:
no blasphemy, no oaths:
he knit his brow in thought, and frowned,
and dusted-off his clothes.
The German mind’s a splendid thing
(think Schopenhauer, Kant):
but nimbleness is not its bag –
it’s no-one’s corybant.
“The street’s one way, and thus,” surmised
this latter-day Von Papen,
“nothing hit me. I’m immune.
No accident could happen.”
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