Mother,
I want another cigarette.
I come into your room
When you are not looking,
And when you are asleep
And worship you using the
Matchbox cars
And paper airplanes I still
Remember.
I keep an eye out for the cops
When it rains-
I watch the purple ants biting
Your tits-
The traffic still continues
On for miles leaking and
Histrionic from cities I’ve
Never been- mother,
I have a book published like
A little polite brother-
You don’t understand,
If I were to die tomorrow I
Should still live for a few years
More.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem