Not a Blowjob.
The nun in her habit sat on a rock near the river,
when I came by she smiled, with lips that had never tasted
a kiss, asked if I wanted a blowjob; taken aback of
what, coming from a nun, sounded like a sick obscenity,
a shocking blasphemy, I left to tell my wife.
She demanded a divorce and got custody of our only dog which,
in triumph, bit my thumb; I went back to the river since I had lost everything,
better let the nun does her job;
but she was floating down the river like a black
bin liner full of newspapers reporting telling of atrocities.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem