In the crowded stench of the tram, 
the twitching, fresh coiffed girl,
face painted and svelte suit, heads 
for some job interview—500-euro monthly, 
so her parents won’t call her a flop. 

Lives with them still, eight years 
to finish college, stays out till 3. 
Screaming into her phone at the boy 
who left her after the second date. 
She hollers, tears drawing canyons 

through powder & blush, three inches 
from my nose. Tram hordes crush her, 
The only space I have to give is to turn, 
pressing my purse to my girth 
to counter thieves, wishing for a  

a tissue to soak up her sobs. 
She alights at the next stop. 
People explode: “why don’t she 
shut up?” “rude to shout,”
“keep her business to herself,” 

She can’t miss that interview: 
the only gig she’s found. The call center 
cubicle where she sold 
lifeless insurance to old people 
who can’t afford it

let her go after a month,    
to keep from signing her on.
Poor girl I think, boy was scum, 
two dates, quick fun, then dumped. 
De-formed life in the city of forever.