I remember

when I was young

reading about

two brothers,

hoarders, who

filled their house

with newspapers,

traversed by tunnels,

which one day

collapsed and

killed them.

In old age

our minds are

filled with the

hoarded memories

of a lifetime,

ready to crush

our spirit

with their weight

as we tunnel through.

The old schoolyard

If we knew why,

and how, a school

classroom, full of

students, all

from the same town, all

exposed to

the same


the same


the same

culture and


can turn out,

fifty years on,

to be Right and

Left, Believer and

Atheist, nice and

not so nice,

we could

understand why

the world is in

such a mess.

Cabbages and kings

Once we talked to

friends of their

children, their

houses, their

careers, their

plans and dreams;

of the books

they were writing,

films they had seen,

art they had created,

gardens they had grown.

Now we talk to

friends of their

illnesses, their

operations, their

diseases, their

pills and potions

and prognoses,

of who has died

and who will die