If it happened to you
They would be porcelain
And kept behind glass
But it happened to me
And they are rubbery
And explode when they are squashed
They can't be swept up
Because they are so soft that they
Just roll under the bristles
So I vacuumed them up
one by one
And imagined that the bag
Would one day be filled
With anxious flies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem