We arrive together in Vienna,
one from Panama,
one from New Zealand,
one from the Czech Republic
(don’t you call it Czechia? Yes, sometimes),
and one from Canada
(that would be me).
We share a four-bed dorm,
strangers from distant parts of the world,
meeting at a point in time,
off in different directions in the morning,
but together for an evening.
And all of us,
yes, every single one of us,
is named David.
We are the Four Davids of the Apocalypse.
Well maybe not exactly of the apocalypse
– our temperaments aren’t really of death –
but perhaps of the opposite of apocalypse.
Yes, we are the Four Davids of Good Fortune.
The Czech David rides a white horse,
carries a bow,
and avenges unrequited love.
The New Zealander David rides a red horse
and carries a sword,
making small cuts in the scooter tires
of those intolerable food delivery people
who swerve in and out of pedestrian traffic,
scaring the bejeesus out of little children
and lovers holding hands.
The Panamanian David rides a black horse
and carries the scales,
measuring the weight
of the sweet-smelling peaches
in the Wiener Naschmarkt
that all the Davids love.
And the Canadian David rides the pale horse,
for he is the opposite of Death.
He is Life.
And because he is Life,
he ties his pale horse
to the post at the local pub,
orders a pint of good Austrian lager,
dons his alpine hat,
and dances the polka
while admiring a woman in pigtails
standing beside a Mozart poster.
Soon the other Davids
join the Canadian David
and all is good fortune in Vienna,
that great capital of Austria,
and beers are handed out to all,
a toast is made to the City of Music,
and we all gaze across the Danube
in wonder and silence.