These are the things we have to deal with
In our shells underneath the sun:
Looking out our windows behind the healthy
Ixora at beautiful girls who love
Beautiful vehicles,
Love the way they run:
As all of our mothers have gone away to
Worship at the Laundromats down the street:
To talk and gossip,
And cut their teeth on something sweet
As the sun pretends to be a flowering rose
Making a vacillating bouquet out of
The sky—
We take one innocent footstep out of doors,
But we can already smell that the
Perfumes of the Ferris wheels she gave
To our hearts have already fled away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem