Roused,3 A.M.
by a muffled fiesta,
bedsprings' creak
and a duet of asthma -
feverish tenor,
a burst of soprano
like porkers jugulared -
I shudder. 'Oh no'.
In refectory next morning
they both seem unscathed;
but wistful, sheepish,
a little dazed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem