You look a bit sad these days,
a side-show: 'Oh, stick her up
round there, that's her sorted out'.
Few of the girls even know
who you are: 'When? ' Hard to believe -
and so we forget.
And women are still locked away
when an old prof loses his keys
and the pigeon cocks circle and puff
at your feet, and the hens ignore them
like those banners on the pavement opposite,
threadbare angels stating what ought to be obvious;
silenced by 'Of course'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ahahahaha :) Nicee Poemm (Y) xxx