I have a picture of Alma hanging on the wall
Of my second bedroom
That I carved myself; At least that is what I tell myself,
And that the moon is full, even though I haven’t checked:
I have done away with all my American friends,
And so my aunt doesn’t love me,
But I can still hear the cars softly, softly like the daydreams
Going by in math class:
And then, maybe then while the schools are young and green,
I will make new friends who are shoeless in the red baseball
Diamond, or in the summer green.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem