A hind leg
Shaped like Antarctica
Will scratch us off
This golden retriever.
A passing UFO
May crop-dust us.
We're nibbling cheese
Near the trap;
Swimming upstream
Towards spears and nets;
Making reservations
In a roach hotel;
We're in the cross-hairs
Of Mother Sniper;
The place needs sheep-dipping
Before dinosaurs walk
On a new coat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem