Munich life

This morning I was woken at eight by a pair of workmen who I assumed had come to fix the internet, which has been ‘am Arsch’ for three days now. No such luck. They had come, waking me from a particularly nice dream – I kid you not – to measure the distance from the bottom of my curtains to the floor.

Only in Germany could this happen. Presumably there’s some regulation that states that the building has to be evacuated if a curtain is that couple of perilous millimetres too long. I can’t explain it, so I’ve decided, as you do, to write a poem about it instead, in the style of ‘The Raven’, by Edgar Allen Poe. Don’t ask why, it’s been a long morning.

For any Poe fans out there, I know I haven’t mimicked the rhyme scheme perfectly, but then he was on opium and I’m not.


The Curtain Men

This morn as i lay snoozing, still slowed by last night’s boozing
Dreaming dreams of sultry sirens serenading me to sleep
There came a piercing ringing, slicing through the sirens’ singing
As of someone ringing, dinging, waking me from slumber deep.
‘Tis some workman type’ I thought, ‘come to break my slumber deep
‘Come to prise me from my humble Munich flat.’

I jerked awake a-mumbling, crossed the floor just slightly stumbling
As I pulled a pair of jeans on, subtle curse-words softly spoken
With my head so rudely pounding like a hammer beat resounding
Still wondering why had some token visitor my snoozing broken
‘Why on earth should I be forced to have my morning snoozing broken
By an early-rising, ringing, Munich sewer-rat.’

Two men were outside waiting, not a thought of hesitating
In they came, these workmen bold, a-pushing wide my door.
‘We’ve come to check the curtains sir, we’ve got to see for certain
If they’re hanging more than twenty centimetres from the floor.’
‘They must be joking,’ I surmised, ‘who cares how far above the floor
Are the curtains hanging in my cosy Munich flat.’

These noble curtain-checkers, early-morning slumber-wreckers
With their single tool a strip of standard measuring tape
Went over to the curtain while I watched on legs uncertain
Watched them as they ascertained the length from ground to drape
‘Don’t tell me that they studied, just to measure ground to drape,’
Thought I, ‘these goddamn Munich bureaucrats.’

And having spent just seconds, as my time-lagged brain did reckon
In an exercise that seemed to have no purpose whatsoever
They left again as quickly as they’d come, I stood there thinking sickly,
How could curtain length be grounds enough my morning snooze to sever
How dare they come to call at eight, my gentle morning snooze to sever
To break the peace that reigned once, in my humble Munich flat.