Drop your key
when you leave
and step on me
so I don't grieve.
I just tried
to keep dirt
off of your hide,
but you don't hurt
as I do
on the ground:
one of the few
who won't form sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like this very much. Love the cleverness of the internal dialogue of the doormat. I've spent many years doing that job meself, it feels like. (smile)