The little girl won’t eat her sandwich;
she lifts the bun and looks in, but the grey beef
coated with relish is always there.
Her mother says, “Do it for mother.”
Milk and relish and a hard bun that comes off
like a hat—a kid’s life is a cinch.
And a mother’s life? “What can you do
with a man like that?” she asks the sleeping cook
and then the old Negro who won’t sit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem