she comes to the funeral
mole smooth and mole black
and I wonder if her life
has been smooth, or has it
twisted and turned like that
old tree root of mine a
forked lightning rod for trouble
that somehow got me food
shelter most of the time
she remembers me alright
the smallest and loudest
in our gang, married a cop
I found out later,
theres some crime
in my tunnel of life
or is it just grime
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem