I don't understand you and
I don't know if I ever will
If it was just one language to learn
Perhaps there would be hope.
But so many...
Where do I start?
You know I've never
Been good
With decisions.
And though you are clean,
You really stink.
We met too late,
My smoking days
Are over.
You are tall, strapping men,
In well-tailored suits and
Designer shirts,
Who smoke.
You are Gucci-clad women,
With six-figure salaries and
Over-sized teeth,
Who smoke.
You are the fence-sitting Swiss,
Who really don't want to be friends
With anyone.
And you don't get
My jokes.
But I love walking your streets,
Pretending I fit in,
When I don't.
My collar bone
Fits in.
It is perfect,
Protruding
Just enough
Below my chin.
A fat-free zone,
Covered by just
The right amount of
Flawless skin.
The rest of me is a mess
And might as well move
To
France.
(Zurich, May 2011)
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