Rumunska xx/xx

I am sitting in a cafe in Prague.
I sit aback, as my pen has exploded over me.
I stain the pages with a fever.

Ashamed that I am unclean
I pick up garbage from the floor at the train station.

Nothing says Europe like the smell of
Cigarette smoke lingering in the mix of
The aroma of coffee that has
Sat out in the sun at noon

For over an hour
For over an hour

This hour has awaited me for so long