She carefully applies
lipstick
glosses over the fact that
cosmetics can’t hide that
(she is sick) .
Her face floating
in the compact mirror
(as if trapped)
lights another cancer stick
(the cancer doesn’t mind)
coughs
laughs
smiles at me
(tongue in cheek)
“ Ah, wot de f***...”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem