There's nothing funny
about getting
old
at night
you pull the foreskin
back
to give it
a good wash
bloody thrush
the one that's not a bird
seems to grow
in the fetid environment
in the morning
I have to wash my bum
so the rubbing of the paper
doesn't aggravate my piles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem