It’s World Poetry Day so for the occasion I’ll share a poem draft. I’ll likely change substantially again because, y’know poetry is motion:
A tourist here
It’s peculiar the things I know
in languages that I do not;
his few words stumbled out,
apology tumbled toward her face.
words staggered, his hand clutched
the doorframe of his mouth
in surprise, with suspicion,
settling on a guttural distress
his breath rose for more to say
but he steadied, studied himself,
made a determined clench of all
relevant muscles (and of some
that weren’t) while a few went
astray. (twitch.) he straightened
to the silence of ahemming
weather: one, two hard squints
at the clouds beyond his head
as tho to nod: that’ll teach them.