Steffi married Agassi a few hours before I got there.
Left bereft, my vision shifted to my friseur,
An apprentice with a Celtic tattoo on the lower back.
We couldn't speak but we shared kimchi and bulgogi.
If we could have,
We would have talked about the god's own country we left
Leaving out why we left.
She left for a better love,
Probably a drunk who abused her,
I too found a lovelier one,
Who realized too fast I ain't right.
My friseur must be a poet here
Sharing a joke
About a Koreanische (or Indianische?) idiot.
from
https://newnonentities.blogspot.com/2010/07/speechless.html
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