Homer’s never owned a gun,
thinks they should be banned
along with bombs and missiles.
Doesn’t need them in the river
that flows between his mind
and his emotions
where every now and then
he pushes someone in
for some untoward remark.
He points to the sky first,
says that’s where heaven is
and gives a push
and waits to hear the scream
and then the splash.
His notebook says
some folks float away,
are never found, flotsam
among the jetsam.
Others he dives in to save
so he can push them in again
to save another day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem