Funeral
He who has radio, and baton, and the gun
Stands there in green like a mum
He wears hat; an apple under feet of camel
Shapeless and has no use, is flat.
Funeral in a hall
Man in suit, all black
Well ironed, sharp, glass
Runs to road with big sign
On it is: “PLEASE STOP”
Cars come out
Hazard lights
On flash.
Why police with baton, gun and hat?
Perfection is in man in black.
Both slaves to greed
Look for tip.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem