The house
wore its new lick of paint
like a kid
showing off a new pair of shoes
that nobody else
could afford.
It smiled
like a spoilt brat
until a mangy cur
slouched up
& disdainfully
urinated slowly
against its new blue
doorness.
The windows
rolled thier eyes.
The door gasped.
Even the grass laughed
sniggering silently to itself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What's a mangy cur? Is this in oirish speak? ? ? I'm liking the poem though, something Alice-like in its quality... and yours are ALWAYS quality! Came snooping bout your pages thinking Sofia might have sparked a poem or too... shall just have to sit patiently tapping fingers on desk until you post some. HG: -) xx