I always thought you were Polish
with your exotic blonde beauty
so I polished my few phrases of that language.
You never know when it might be useful.
The day after I overheard you had gone
home to a country that is not Poland
I was in a bar speaking Polish
with some old drunk who said
he thought I was an angel.
originally published in Poetry Scotland and first posted on this blog ten years ago.
Meanwhile over on Crafty Green Poet, you have a 2nd chance to read my poem Windmills!