In the heat
the goodness
soaking through my skin
i felt virtuous
i walked
along the crooked mile
waiting for golden hands
to grasp mine
i strayed
and found a dead man
lying stiffly
in the gutter
i sighed
breathing deeply
to cover
my own fear
this could
this could have been
me
i tell myself
and through
the blinding tears
i know
it was
(First published in the author's collection
'Behind the Painted Veil', Outposts Publications,
Walton-on-Thames, Surrey,1972, page 9)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem