Rained as fat as pregnant cats who’d sated on our
Mice,
And I stood and flirted with a little Mexican girl with eyes
As dark as thunderclouds over the parts of the sea
Forever estranged from humanity;
And she was only playing, and I took the knife and cleaved
The cabbage from its groves, the scuppernongs
From the vine:
And I looked into her Guerra conceived eyes, and didn’t
Look away so that she would believe me when I
Gave her flowers, and promised her that they were not mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem