Russian Roulette Poem by RosalineJacques Rousseau
Russian Roulette
I'm playing a game.
It's not very fun.
It's a game of chance.
A Russian Roulette.
A game to bet.
There is only two left.
The only alive.
The other two,
They died.
It's just me and him.
One gun.
One bullet.
And one survivor.
I hope it's me,
Though I don't want him to die.
He slides the gun across the table.
It's my turn.
I'm so terrified.
I pick it up,
Hold it tight.
Spin it.
I here the pop.
I open my eyes,
Surprised to be alive.
I look around,
I see the man,
He's on the ground.
I've won this game,
I've won this round.
The game of chance,
The game,
Russian Roulette...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 10:50:23 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Great poem, unusual subjects are always far more interesting for me to read and this is about as unique as I can imagine. Not to be too nit picky but I think there should be two guns, otherwise when she opens her eyes after pulling the trigger she'd have to hand him the gun for his turn before he had a chance to blow his head off. Beyond that it was an enjoyable read. I'm curious what other unusual ideas made their way into your poetry.