Jan Oskar Hansen Poet Prose Poetry

Misfits In Liverpool

A misfit in Liverpool 
I think of oranges saw a painting by Constable of a morning sun 
that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some 
fishermen trying to catch eels on the dark surface in the bay.
There were sail-ships too ready to hoist sail in the morning wind. 
When I lived in England I met several police constables, most 
of them, nice blokes, alas, during the miner´s strike they became 
radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up and 
were also promised plenty of overtime. 

John, the constable, - fifteen years on the beat and no promotion-
 a friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head, 
he continued his lonely beat but at the station he was ostracised, 
a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after 
hours and we drank vodka with orange juice lamenting the time we 
lived in. John got an early retirement and I sold my cafe.

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