When she says you ought to get one,
you say it makes you soft,
and she says oh it does not!
and you say, 'He's got one,
and I poked him,
and the finger went right in,
and you'd have climbed that rock easy
if you hadn't broke
and got soft enough
to take a finger-deep poke.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Most original, provoking thoughts on air conditioners, which will never be the same again.