The Complicated Scam
I met a man in a bar he was a monk dressed as civilian
to study the world and he painted me a picture.
How wondrous life was behind wall, a cell each a habit a
and a pair of sandals. Regular meals of the healthy kind
Monks never got diabetes or heart diseases, and the wine
they drank at each meal was home made.
We had another drink followed by more it was closing time
I rose to leave, and he began crying
He had nowhere to go, he said, what about the cloister, no they
will not open their doors I drank too much wine and seduced
A novice. I suggested he should take a photo prostrate in the front
Of our Saviour. He thought that was a good idea, but he had
No camera, I gave him mine - he was a monk even a fallen one-
I never saw him again, but saw my camera for sale in the window
of a second-hand shop
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem