By the look of me
I hate hubs you have to go through
to get somewhere else:
I've gotten rid of the elbows,
and the wrists, the ankles and knees;
I have no hands or feet,
so no joints in fingers and toes
(knuckles I suppose):
the knob on top of my neck
is a swelling
of the bone between my front and my back,
so the neck is a hub faux;
I've gotten rid of one shoulder and hip
and there's only one of each to go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem