Scented with African Bird Peppers
and leaning in to a third afternoon, first month
of a recluse year, my neighbor looks on wistful
as an overweight high school girl.
She's been dumped, assigned
to our flambeau colored sanitarium.
The faux brick pillars of the day room,
beds that open and close like clam shells,
perpendicular corridors content with themselves
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem