Amongst the Grosse lisse
and the lowly broccoli
I found salvation there.
He'd hidden what he loathed
or so his mind had said,
Wild Turkey, sitting there
behind a transient friend
it was a credit of the highest...
Bill had gone that way last year
to aspartame, made by Monsanto.
It dropped the calories
and perked him up
and filled his inner needs
and it presided at
his wake.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good use of irony, Herbert. Your opening 3 lines are an incredible way to open a poem and it hooked me in.