Golden yards fawning in
Afternoons glittering in the filigree of daydreams,
And housewives finally swimming
Their,
Their toenails painted by the patina of the
Canals-
Oh, what a beautiful, suburban world- filled with
The truancies of little boys:
Their hearts leaping like goldfish coming to
The midways of the housewives
In their slumber less afternoons:
Can’t you see they are up
To no good:
They are parking cars outside of doctors
Offices,
And spending most of their time with themselves,
But it is a beautiful avoidance
In the estuaries of common happenstance
Where most of us are said to live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem