Copenhagen is a word I find lovely

Copenhagen is a word I find lovely. I arrive an ignorant man making up with smiles and enthusiastic nodding.



It seems a city occupied by armies of one parent and their child. I took a long walk though the descending twilight. The people here are tall and strongly built. I feel small. A mother carries her children on a bicycle with two front wheels that support a large dark square metal box. It is in this box that two blond toddlers have a universe of red and blue plastic toys. Behind them, their fair but quite blond mother leans on heavy pedals, letting her children's world fly onward.

Tiredness falls on my stomach and huger pulls with sharp hooks. I hate not even being able to ask people if they speak English. I'm forced to presume that which I do not know. But no one seems to notice. It is only when I try to knot my tongue to make Danish words that people seem to share some of my embarrassed confusion. So, at least in English, my guilt remains a secret, hidden behind a façade of shyness.

The heart of my belly guides me to a basement Japanese restaurant. It sits by one of the many large rivers which lounge around the city like giant sunbathing snakes. Lovely light clean food! Then, too much green tea later, it becomes now. Back home for along sleep!