Trolley cases on the quay, tourists
They belong to it when you live here
Thin John sitting straight on his bike
every morning three times around the block
in the afternoon on foot the other way around
And Mario the sidewalk speaker
with his dog. They belong to it

The children who jump cannonballs
next to party people in their sloop
We ourselves when we go on vacation
in airplanes every two minutes
low over the houses against the wind
The cyclists with their priority face
Ordinary people who are living here

The Americans in front of their café
on the corner, where believers sat
when the church with the tower was still there
Red Mia dutifully shuffling around
the litter bins which she keeps tidy
And neighbours arguing once again
They all belong to it

They live here, and everywhere
the world is maladjusted, so
I begin on the street, with myself
with them and with you: Hello!
A good day here
where we are at home and wish
that everything stays different