Clog Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Clog
Clog
His foot is swollen
Cannot walk but steps.
When he does, is a dock
And doctors: "A clog…"
He is home on sofa
Resembles potato
And will rot…
For other left message
He did not call me back.
My phone rang late at night:
"I was in hospital…"
And doctors: "A clog…
Was in leg; now in lung…"
News of White-Non-White
Also, is a clog…
The best is getting out;
But where, how?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 12:25:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
