The other day you saw an arm.
Next to some food where they you served
Seeping patches of and.
Watching the faces I think.
Does she work here for more than food.
Sores that heal slowly when aloe alone.
The busboy sneezed and
no one here knows she has aids.
You haven't answered the thought yet.
Nor thought of food yet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem