I enjoy driving slowly
Up Kathleen Avenue,
It brings out my
Split personality.
The sun strobes
Through pre-leaf spring;
I remember a boy
Twirling on the dance floor lawn,
Then called to the back
To serve time
Straightening the nail pile
With back bent.
He gave thanks for the rain
To splash in gutters.
The weeds will grow.
The spades, like naked stickmen,
Are heeled into mounds
Beneath dripping clothes.
My cryogenic memory
Thaws, and resolves itself
In you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the title itself is really new wondering why this though dint cross my mind