In the shadow of the sun

Planes continue arriving

in the heat. Holidays begin

and end. The trees

embrace the empty streets –

and on your bare elbows

you feel a mountain breeze.

Fate or simply luck?

You can’t decide.

The clatter of trams

sounds like a country song

and it’s easy for you to believe

that the rain will stop

exactly when you want.

Outside the Lakfa on the corner

the newspapers shout. They disappear

with a movement of your hand.

Even Death will be late.

You casually light a cigarette.

Your ex sits behind the wheel

with an irresistible smile.

The traffic lights are red.