The fun in an elephant-aware child's mind
on hearing that a torso is a trunk
recurs in its adult phase
in front of a forest of legged and headed
Tunisian trunks
guarding the goal against England.
That phase figures:
as our lips
move like elephant trunk tips,
with the possibility
we must come to terms,
that once we
were pachyderms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A plainly funny write. Waving our trunks around with a beer in hand we roar like buffoons.