Hadn't she said the last time that he would screw up?
Any time he tried, she had said, he would screw up.
That's what she had said.
Hadn't she made it clear
that there would be no more sympathy
from her side?
And still he persisted.
He knew how she felt,
how she would react,
and still he went on,
trying, yes trying, to anger her.
He must actually look forward
to the moment he has to say out loud,
knowing she will have only scorn for his failure,
for his repentant confession,
that once again
he has burned the bacon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem