Ironed shirt

That dreadful moment when the weekend starts,
full of concerts, but the pockets are empty,
plus a huge headache makes the veins pump,
too many empty wishes,
too much changing linguistic systems
and ironed shirts.

So don´t mind me if I´m dancing
like a possessed,
on yellow barcelonian petals.

Music and then dancing in the parks
makes much more sense
than having to speak 5 languages
so you might have a job
and don´t starve
to death.