These fish too dream of their affluence
They too deserve to be so beautiful as to have
No fear of going to get their hair cut;
And the rain has passed us on the highway-
Maybe it is another forty miles to another rest stop
Where you can recline in your car and sleep;
Or you can just go outside and shiver and
Look at the clouds but never anymore wonder to
Pretend to conceive the belly dancers in their shapes:
There is a woman on this very same road, you know;
But she has given up on you; she doesn’t even remember
Your echoes down the very same halls of the interchangeable
Sexes of your shared adolescents;
Oh, how you often dreamed of touching her,
And the evidence of your infallible desire remains
Like spots of dew on the green rug in the
Shade of the weary ceiling fans. I know, but the
The eyes of the alligators are just as dangerous as they are
Beautiful,
But the only difference is that they haven’t moved on:
They also don’t remember who you are, or were, but they are
Kind enough to wait for you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem