In your best story I’m in red
heels that get caught in the cobbles
of my city.
You pluck my foot out
by the ankle
_                   like a beet;
we go back to my mother’s apartment.

My mother’s apartment
is the size of a chessboard
she sleeps with a rook and a Gypsy.

I’m studying dentistry.
I put on the tea kettle.

In thirty years you return;
you’re still a writer.
I’ve remained the same age but
here’s a summary of what’s changed:

We’re in the EU,
I’m a dental attorney.
You left your wife and your children.

We go back to my mother’s apartment.
She should be dead by now.
I put on the tea kettle.