''It will taste just like chicken, ' the waitress said.
I poked at it a bit,
I did not finger-lick it,
I did not think of Cather or Steinbeck,
I thought of The Colonel instead,
Coughing out a laugh.
They gave me the rattle I no longer needed.
My father asked what
The matter was.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
O, I thought it was a good poem and enjoyed reading it but it finished to soon. I didn't get the whole story......