Bandi Barchi

Bandi, who we call Barchi
which is Hungarian for uncle,
has left a tub of swiss chocolate,
a small plate of twiglet circles,
an open atlas circa, 1956.

In the kitchen, Bandi Barchi,
has laid out breakfast – could be tea –
for each of us he’s told will come
at 1am to find his flat – several rooms
that live above

the Almentstrasse.
On the table is a pencil
someone’s used to draw a flag.
The wax lined union jack,
is placed upon a cushioned chair –

at either edge, are cocktailed slips,
the kind you’d use to stick in cheese-
one Hungarian, one Swiss. Bandi Barchi’s
set three plates, stacked like dolls
with cups for tea. He’s left:

a loaf of bread,
two jars of jam,
a small tub of chopped apple,
three sachets
of powered soup.

At 2am we see the note,
that Bandi Barchi’s left to read:
For three bears who’ve come to Bern,
he will call at 9am –
and we will meet.