Luc is the name of her former husband.
She often mentions him. She owns
a Bonnard and a perfect Jasper Johns.
She is almost 60, maybe older,
wrinkled as sea shell under her dress.
I fix her a pipe and lock the veranda
doors as I leave.
An aria from Madama Butterfly pours
over me like a street light.
Enough dope in the trunk of my car
for two life sentences.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem