Warm is the merry-go-round in
The yoke of daylight, cheering itself,
An omelet of the midway
Where Spanish girls who are so fare
Have new boyfriends but
Just for the day—When it cools,
And their hearts freeze, they won't
Be asking us to spend any more money
On any more games—
Their traps will close—
And their love will metamorphosis
Again to the faithfulness at mass underneath
The Virgin of Guadalupe—
So when the werewolves bathe in the moonlight
Atop of their house,
They will bend their stems, and kiss their
Husbands, to whom they swear they don't
Know whom it is that makes such terrible howls—
But we know who it really is—
The lycanthropic howls of their middle of the day
Boyfriends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem