Poem, having grown teeth,
Somehow got out of a notebook
That lay on a dusty shelf,
And jumped me.
Its assault lasted an infinity.
It honed in on my hand,
Ripping to the root a
Penile finger, which action,
I think, gave it the idea
Of hitting me below the belt.
The doctor in hospital
Moving my bandages away,
Mechanically asked,
'Do you smoke? '
'That ain't the half of it, '
I answered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem