Michael Philips

Foreign Language - Poem by Michael Philips

I have this interpreter
grafted to my body,
He is inebriated and
conveys not me but a goon,
using all the wrong words,
facial expressions,
body movements
like a marionette.

I want you to know I am more
dimensional than that alien absurdity
that just came out of my mouth.
I want to woo you with graceful words
about the bittersweet essence of the world,
with lyrical passages about simple joys,
but my language is torn from a phrasebook,
and I’m stuck with phrases like
“Excuse me, Madam. Can you tell me
the way to the train station? ”
But it’s okay, I don’t know what I
would have said anyway.

Comments about Foreign Language by Michael Philips

  • (7/13/2005 11:01:00 AM)

    i liked it, it´s a very good poem... (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: world, joy

Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 19, 2005

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 19, 2005

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