Old Wound? Poem by David Taylor
Old Wound?
I don't know why I kept it
or at least for some reason
I like to say that.
Of course I do.
An old sticking plaster
no longer sticky,
used, of no use?
On the side that faces in,
my blood,
where she had scratched my hand
(unintentionally?)
when we fought.
And on the side that faces out,
a child's sticker,
(Thomas the tank engine)
prized and valuable.
Whether or not to put it in the bin?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 10:46:15 PM # 1.0.0.1119
