Feared by friendly women and men
were the supersaturated stony silences of Ken.
I got a taste
on a drive in the Highlands
in the summer of twenty ten.
Parched me
bought water in hated plastic.
But I bought 2 for the price of 1.
Ken, of course,
wouldn't put his mouth to a bottle,
but a certain fiscal admiration
kept him
from adding super to saturation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem