Tussling, tussling on our brooms into dusk,
Never letting the long shadows from the sun exactly
Escape us: cheering with our bottles of
Liquors over the trees,
Make our complexion finely rummy:
Oh, I said she was beautiful,
I shouted across the land into her sports utility
Vehicle- She kind of looked up as if to
Understand, but her expensive shoes were already
Polishing the gas-
She had a new boy, so she wagged her fine a$s-
Maybe in the air-conditioning underneath the tinted
Shade she made a tear, but if she did it
Was Faberge- my words could not endear her to the
Weariness and literature of a grey-come sea:
I loved her, I loved her, yes indeed, but she was always further
Away, and always smiling in every picture of her ever made.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem