I’ll have to wait until yesterday and listen:
The crickets in the four corners of the yard,
The Indians underneath the easements of
Grounds:
The alligators listening toothy-eyed:
And the bandy legged men: the grand daddy
Long legged men
Who cross like firemen’s ladders into the orchards-
Picking and wondering what they have here:
Halos over the heads of Mexicans-
Asleep and enjoying themselves- while I watch
For them from my window of the house
That I suppose I own,
After she has driven home again across the
Train tracks like the prizes of a goldfish in a bowl
Hypnotizing the feral cats that are forever too
Afraid to come inside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem