The strike in my body is not ready for arbitration
it’s tired and unwilling to commit.
There aren’t any favourable conditions
the forecast says grey skies and rain.
I haven’t forgotten about it
I know it,
I’ve been there
I grew-up there.
I want the smiles and flavours,
I miss the perfume and smell of onions.
I want the colours of the flag,
I miss the music and smiles.
I miss the Death every November with her jokes and beauty.