I look deep into the eyes of my poodle,
brown eyes as talkative and piercing as a young boy...
I wipe away cold beads of sweat on my forehead,
grinding my teeth, not wanting to hear
there's dog meat and soup listed in a menu before me,
gleaming on a varnished, mahogany table in a chinese restaurant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem