Arthur rubbed his bristly chin
with the back of a quaking hand,
frowned at the crumpled paper,
squinted, straining to understand.
The note gave only a new address,
no message, or any reason why-
a mystery hidden under the gin,
between the bourbon and the rye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Where was Jack? Red or Black. Nice sobering poem.