Cyclops,
turned over the house in a burning rage
and looks out the window day and night still.
Seeing the feet of the boy at the foot of the bed
and some dirty underclothing once worn heaped there.
Grunge punk socks can also be seen,
underneath looking out at one pink and red.
She can say that the sleeping boy
walked around the house a very long time.
Before removing them like the report said.
Disgustingly soiled inside propped on a broom stick,
leaning against the moldy wall.
Cylops eyed and gagged, swallowing both big toes.
Continuing to shallowly breathe through her nose.
Sleeping still there he lies.
Unlike him/others come in from the back porch,
anyway they are just mostly homeless.
People like you turned away from.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem