Someone rings the bell, says he's an inspector
who's come to see if everything still works
he doesn't ask permission 'cause he wears
a uniform whose buttons weigh in too.
Under the cushions he finds some misplaced coins
under the table a child in concealment
under the sink a liquid that can kill
behind the window panes the view is still.
He draws conclusions from a diagram
he knows the codes and does it point by point
he has a handsome bag that's made of leather
gel keeps his hair in shape, his fly is open.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem