what could have happened
to the newspaper delivery
she could be sick or some
i haven't heard that morning crush
hitting the garage door, bounce
probably leaving a minuscule dent
so quiet today no engine reeving
no lights shining on my window
no slamming doors, percolating coffee
we are really slave of our own desires
we work so hard to be able to get one
or support these lovely souls around
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem