Polish judges were smiling and rosy.
The auditorium was a geometric shell.
Empty. Placards were ready for judging
to the thousandth of a point, Greek TV
blared from the Brazilian steak shop
where a haggardly lady sat alone
by the register as if she had always
been there and had never moved.
Then the Greek singing was luscious
and thick and mad, terribly mad.
I headed back to work, puzzled about
my place in the world. The tambourines
were chaotically messy.