Jagota

The radiators don't hum loudly enough here to keep me warm, but it's just one more hour;
one more hour of standing in front of Spain and Japan and Hungary
and whicheverplace bratty-orange-chav-girl is from,
with her talon nails
and bleach
and diamonds jammed in her teeth, and her Adidas shellsuit, and oh hell why did it have to be
Adidas.
Adidas when I'm supposed to be thinking about The Future Perfect tense.

I wonder if she knows that thing about the two violins,
however it went, that thing about the two violins.
She looks the sort of girl who might loudly exclaim "I can't stand poetry, yah?"
So I guess we weren't meant to be and anyway
she has that job waiting for her back in Poland or Czech or
wherever.
And my future is a long train ride with too few drinks coupons, to help plant the saddest little tree in the world.