Gull's yellow smile splits open;
He is standing in a little pool of sunshine,
Wrinkly stockings of skin droop round his ankles
Like a harbour whore at the end of a busy shift.
His shriek presses the pay-off button:
Three oranges and three lemons
Line up below a gratuitous peal of bells.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem