at the train station
in Asti ruined my
white wine buzz
by staring at my
eight dollar, blue
plastic ring and asking
how many children I want,
cackling through both
teeth, amazed at my height.
She grabbed her saggy
breast, explained that she
had a son at 45, but
she had no milk and now
he never visits. Her eyes clouded,
she starts all over again. I wish
I hadn't been so eager
to practice my Italian,
and I wonder how late
my train will be. The fourth
time she grabs her chest,
I use my long legs to lose her,
walk out the front door
and watch her wander off
before the bell sounds.
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