Copenhagen
No longer are we the inhabitants.
No longer the imbibers, consumers,
takers, theives, distributors,
the dwellers, drainers, levellers,
the top rung and the revellers,
inheritors, progenitors,
the prized, the priced, the fetterers,
the fishers, fakers, falsehood-makers,
the self-aware and dominant,
the fleece-hunters, the stake-burners,
the bet-hedgers, the adamant.
No longer the lynchers, pinchers,
gluttons, bingers,
illustrious and magnificent,
the glory-seekers, scapegoaters,
the dark, deep sea illuminators.
The grabbers,
the snatchers,
the fetchers,
the weepers,
the space-racers, the garden keepers,
the damners, nor the damned,
the artillery, nor the upper hand.
We are not the erratic, the fanatic,
the apologists nor operatic,
the alchemists, the golden cows,
the holy-holy-holier than thous,
the alcoholic,
the vitriolic,
the three piece suit and gin and tonic.
We are custodians. The seeders,
the builders-up and basket weavers,
the planters, the chanters,
the silver sailors, urban dancers.
Curators, farmers, potters, makers,
spinners of the wooden wheel,
helmsmen of the wooden keel,
smoothers of the surface soil,
reapers of a verdant toil,
gleaners,
preeners,
social dreamers,
holders of the land,
passing down by hand
the secret of the green and grand.
We sit in fields with backs to trunks
as repentant, sorry, happy monks.
The clever children ask us, “Why,
when all you had to do was try?”
