I  7 o’clocked in bed cursing

the repaired radiator stuffing

the air like a fat

stuffed turkey. Too bad it is

not October, no birthday

presents in March for me, so I put

what I had on yesterday, searching

for verses on the way to school. They

must be in the sun rays, but it’s cloudy

today, they might be in this bird’s

song. Too bad the dog ate it, but left

one of bird’s feathers, barking: write

it for yourself!

What’s this click-clacking

figure blocking my way ahead?  An old

luggaged woman, I’ll just pass, we’ll never

have what to say anyway. Whispering as we walk,

her sister is already dead, she divorced

her husband when her son

was two, her daughter will pay her a bus

ticket on return, the social services

will not pay her because she needs

a document from her son, but he doesn’t

have a car…

At 8:30 I am already late, but copy

“Verbs” from the blackboard and put

the lady’s life bellow in  such a rush,

that my teacher, pleased by my attention

warns me: you, in the last row, please don’t write

everything I’m saying, it’s in the book, but I know

it is not