The pen thought it romantic to be sliding
At the back of this fast food receipt
As the rains gush like green ink
I stare at my plaid jacket
Hanging at the back of the empty chair across me
And thought of its sheer arrogance
As it stares back
With a taunting voice
It asks why I am eating alone
In between classes
And impulsive bank withdrawals
With the quickness of a magician’s hand
I yank it by the neck
And decided that it needs
Some long overdue washing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem