'L'heure vert' in French equals, roughly, Happy Hour
One to go and workday's finished,
smudged like droplets against
the window. Who else craves anise-
flavored spirits of Grande wormwood,
sweet fennel, la fee verte?
Van Gogh, Verlaine, Baudelaire, Rimbaud
gathered in cafe's to toast
the green fairy, her garters mussed
to better hold Artemis' long-legged
beauty. Poor petite absinthe-nymphet
bird of five o'clock intermission
from office, bank, shop, boulangerie.
Wearing clothes she's stolen
from the fannier. A loiterer who learns
nothing, an eye silted with sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem