She was the consequence of lust
In a cheap room over a bar.
He remembered as though it were
yesterday. Her naive mother
Was only nineteen and single
at the time; him? He was married,
Separated and twenty-eight.
Below, in the bar, the jukebox
Was blaring an instrumental
Whose deep, bass guitar synchronized
with every copulating thrust.
The tune ended before the sex
And climaxed with a gestation
To Diana Ross’s “Love Child.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem