Dressed like Fred Astaire not like a queen,
everything‘s topsy-turvy in a knotted dream.
Wave your hands to your feet
and I’ll show you where infinity meets.
TV on the wall, music in my head,
thinking about getting up and disappearing to bed.
Sheets pulled up, eider-down.
Naked, wearing but a dressing gown.
Out to loosen things from inside
waiting for the rumble from the imbibe.
Lost two kilos – with some more to go,
three will do nicely, got to put on a show.
Meeting the nurse later with a long hose
what she plans to do – heaven knows.
When I see her I’ll just smile and brush my hair
and ask her to be gentle putting it ‘you-know-where’.
To be continued.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem