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,
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
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