I just want light

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Why is the light white, he asked. 
- What kind of question is that? Do you want to buy these bulbs or not? 
— Wouldn’t it be good customer service to answer my question? I am just wondering about the color.
- The color of what?
— Of the light. I can’t see it.
And he pointed at the little boxes on the shelf.
- Are you serious? I have been working at Homedepot for seventeen years. Your question is a first. 
— Really? Are people not buying these bulbs?
- Yea, they do, but they don’t seem to talk about them as much. They just buy them.
— Do they ever return them? If they don’t have the right light?
- I don’t know. I work in these aisles, not at the service desk. You have to ask them.
— But when they don’t know what is meant by white!
He was gesturing at the shelf again.
- The light is white. What’s so difficult about it?
— Isn’t all light white?
- Really? How about red light?
— No, I mean the light itself. From the bulb. Not some filter. Or glass. Or whatever.
- All these bulbs have some kind of glass. It filters the light.
— Yea, sure. The one I opened has clear glass. So, I was wondering.
- Wondering about what? 
— Where does the white come from?
- I don’t know. It’s a bulb.
— That’s why I want to buy it. Just with the right light.
- All bulbs have the right light. You just need to know what you want.
— I want a light bulb. With nice light. Why does it have to be white?
- You said all light is white.
— Right. But I don’t want that.
- What do you want?
— I have no idea. Just light.

This conversation was playing in my head. A conversation about nothing. Just light.
Practicing the writing of dialog in a writing workshop a few weeks ago.

Still

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Noch
17. Januar 1991  

Schuhe noch nicht zu-
gebunden schlugen Bomben 
meinen Schlafkopf Morgen 
peitschte Radiowellen
Sündengeißen treiben  

Seit Uhr wird ge-
schlagen
heilige Schlacht 
Moscheen scheinen
Wunderlampen Öl ver- 
siegt Himmel dämmert 
Abbruch  

Noch …
Still
January 17, 1991  

Shoelaces still not 
tied bombshells beat
my dream head morning
whipped radio waves
scape nannies stay afloat  

Since a.m. we are
blasting back holy war 
mosques queer
magic lamps oil runs 
dry sky dawning 
abruption  

Still … 

I have rediscovered this poem, which I wrote in German on January 17, 1991. I woke up that morning and found a note on top of two library books: Could you return the book on top and renew the other one? Thank you. PS: You might not want to turn on the radio. 

This is a text for my year-long online writing course Uncovering the Authentic Self on dailyom.com. The prompt was rediscovery. Previous texts are on Home and Giving.
Rediscovering this poem, editing it a bit, and translating it into English today reminded me that I only wrote poetry again twenty years after in 2011.