Chicha
At noon, coming north on Islington
Labors were ants heading for their den
Lunchboxes in hand, food and ice
I board the ship of memories and sail
Cross the pacific, north to south
We anchor and are welcomed with Chicha
At noon, walking on pages of history
Labors are ants, for their den heading
Lunchboxes in hand, and jerry-cans
They drink the unfiltered extract
Share their unwashed, uncleansed cups.
Behind the wheel of my car
I close and open my eyes
Enjoy my trip in place and time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem