Hot dog
Not ‘if' but
-when I die
-treat me like hot-dog!
(Opening pack of buns
-cleaning, warming up,
-setting sausage inside,
-then mustard and ketchup,
-possibly, pickle, salt,
-horseradish and so on…)
The bun for me, though,
-must be of papers, books,
-which sit on the shelves of
-my room and left to right,
-as well as in albums,
-closets, drawers…
Let the worms and snakes
-as well as rats, insects
-find me too delicious
-lick the lips of good taste.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nassy, from where did you obtain the colours you have used here? The lively dead colours i notice.