[ humming ]

Crap is crap,
I want my German back.
I miss his pre-emptive German guilt,
the hours of hopeless whining filled.
I miss the saint, I miss the sinner,
the *hours* each day he shops for dinner.
I miss his serial obsessions,
I miss his cultural depressions,
the soccer (not much), the films,
the songs,
political rants how "America's wrong",
I miss meta-meta- Weltanschauung.
I miss support for opinions by reference to Spiegel,
that he drives like a madman because it is legal.
I miss the Goethe, I miss the Rilke,
his morbid fear the charges will milk ya.
I miss The Ring, and Max und Moritz,
I even miss the schadenfreude.
I miss his mother's tales of woe,
his westerns, crime, and Columbo.
I miss his distaste for overt affection,
his pointing out every German connection.
I miss the living in his head,
the fascination for things long dead.
I miss Herzog, and Kinski, and
Wings of Desire.
I miss my temper he set on fire.
Yeah. Crap is crap,
but I so want my German back.


--XineAnn