tut, tut, cries the door
dr… dr… open my hands
in a temper foul is one
another,
a bundle of furies
there is one,
resembling a triangle
crouched in a corner
see this too chubby
fraught with a move to snip out
laughing at mischance close to,
to double upon mayhem
a gentleman doping slowly
crawls into silent drive
none has time to worry,
cast-off at a slurry of pain.
……………………………………………
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem