For a few seconds in Columbo; scratching like a cat
at the door of recognition, selling hotdogs as a star
drifts by. Motel curtains that smell of coffee;
a bed full of bottles, dust between his fingers. Cut.
A noble fall! - we never knew him; a minor hero
stamped on celluloid; lost on the cutting-room floor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem