I am at a bar near the train station in my hometown. The train is just for tourists; this station is its first and only stop. I take the stone hallway to the doorless bathroom. It is wintertime, and the ceramic basin is so cold that my piss steams and i am forced to watch as i breath my own urine.
I am a child in Spain,
watching the bullfight on a small television.
My sisters want to change the channel.
I am a first-grader in Brussels.
The roasted metro-chestnuts smell like january index-cards.
I ask, but we cannot afford them.
A door closes and
i can see your ankles through it
until i can't.