I’m vulgar.
If I were wheat I’d be bulgar.
If I were a bird I’d be Crow.
If I were absurd I’d be Pozzo.
If I were a Norse God I’d be Loki.
If I were a dance, the hokey-pokey.
Slip me the keys to the kingdom
and I’ll let the riffraff come—
the leper, the beggar, the poet, and the bum.
If I were on the surface, I’d be scum.
If I could put on strings, I’d be a ukulele
and if Segovia came, I’d say, “Sorry—
only Arthur Godfrey can strum me.”
Things gross in nature become me.
I am the chaff which the wind driveth away.
I am the human laugh of the feral child at play.
I’m the only man at the brothel
who still goes upstairs with Olga!
Even my rhyme is half-assed.
I’m vulgar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem