Düsseldorf

By Vasiliki Albedo

The lady who takes the change

at the public restrooms has a sparse

beard girdling her lips.

In the queue ahead of me

a teenage girl points

this out to her friend. She must

be Greek she says.

When I was here as a child, my brown

eyes were a fineness.

Today, in the Oktoberfest aftermath,

a man yells at me on the street

go back to Colombia. 

© 2019 harana poetry

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