They're talking in tongues I don't understand,
and my stomach is clenching in twisted knots,
I scribble in frustrated tension, tapping out tunes
in fingerprinted patterns on greasy desktops.
I am segregated, separated, set apart – and just
so confused. They jabber gibberish to each other
in perfect time, with elaborate vocabulary and
clever manipulation of tenses; the intricacy of grammar.
I stutter, and stumble, and mumble broken English
shamefacedly as the silence around me speaks volumes;
She didn't understand again. Professoressa smiles
encouragingly but it all seems sadistic to me, because
Non posso parlare italiano, et mon français est pire.