The corner

I live on a corner and sit curled up in the kitchen cupboard, but nothing helps. Trams ring their bells as they pass by, a scooter scrapes its way through the bend. There are always people chatting in front of my window, sometimes they are in love with searching, sweaty hands. A man shouts that he is going to disinherit his family. Dogs practise their barking.

I climb out of the cupboard and look for the noose I bought at the rope shop. Outside, I see a lonely young woman in a wheelchair, whispering if I will push her to that straight canal for the final push. I know that the water there barely reaches the ankles.
At the dried-up shore, I ask for her hand.