I don’t care when it comes.
I’ll just sit down.
Most people would walk the
ten steps.
They would want to know the exact time.
But I’m too tired and
it’s up the hill.
There’s draught around my
ankles
and a girl behind the glass.
She’s pretty.
If I met her though, I’d
probably think her
hair looks a bit too messy.
When it finally arrives,
I shall see the reflection
of it
on the lap of her black
skirt.
But no! It only reflects
those
that come from the other
direction.
The ones I don’t want.
I’ll have to rely on my ears.
I know their voices quite
well
Here they
come – together.
Sunday
trams.
Anna Krýsová
