There’s autumn ammunition in our sleepy cities now
As baked-brown, nut-bound, downtown chestnuts
Set themselves to shed their cornucopia of conkers.
Eager hordes of campaigning children scrabble madly,
Garnering prickly piles of green-spiked unprimed shells
To split asunder, uncovering polished musketball-shaped threats
Which, with added artifice of vinegar and knotted string
Create a clash, sometimes a knuckle-knocking bloodbath contest,
As shiny carapaces slam together till they crack open,
In battle, not with bomb or bullet, but as fiercely fought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem