Here there is no phone
The sun, the baby in his carriage
chews on his hat, the table
with the candle on it, off, a glass
with ice cubes, diary, menu,
the wind blows, a couple with two
sunglasses, apple juice in a bottle,
an empty chair for someone
who isn’t coming
somewhere the phone rings,
rings, rings
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem