should’ve shot some rocketry
that New Year’s Eve back in Bucharest
back when the world became Twelve.
But I believed I’d never have to wonder
how it feels to miss it so; hot wines
and moonshine burns while waiting for
the umbrellas to return like seasonal
swallows; and when pecked about learning
the linguistics too slowly I figured
I’d have a half a fat decade to grow
into it. What a dummy.
What a dummy, me oh my oh me.