Lobster Cannonball Poem by Timmy Curran
Lobster Cannonball
To a boiling lobster
the water is warm
to the end of the line
the water is clear
The bassline grooves
Sunscreen smudges on greasy skin
The chair adding layers
The outside whistling near
Used to scrape the bottom here
Little cockroach I am
Now I sit at the shallow end of a pot,
without sunscreen, heavy as a cannonball
get to be peeled like an apple
last thoughts thumping:
'How did this happen? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 5:15:09 AM # 1.0.0.1119
