She doesn't like it
When I puff up my cheeks like an outraged chipmunk
Make slits of my eyes
Furrow my brow and downturn of mouth
She said "If you make an exploding face, I can also make an exploding face"
And if we were purer of being - that is, everything that encompasses being
Brief disturbances of mood would be leaves dropping onto the flat smooth waters of a pond with only the slightest ripple
And like a cartoon
With steam coming out of both ears
"You rascal you"
Displeasure shown before full understanding is reached
For that she disarms the exploding face
Snips the wire with a more detailed explanation
And some compromise
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem