To my poor brain after a long day of interpreting and translating.
Lips pressed, brows furrowed, she looks at me perplexed.
“I don’t understand. What did you say? You seem so terribly vexed.”
I huff and stomp and wave my hand,
Bite back a curse and demand:
“Mis palabras are not clear?
O tal vez no puedes oír.
I’m speaking perfectly fine.
El problema is yours, mi amiga, not mine.”
“Ah, I see now what’s wrong. It’s not me, despite your wish.
You’re the one talking in a mix of English and Spanish.”
(C) Sara Ackerman 2016