there is this certain house
call it the beach house
a once well-worn respite,
it's quaint disrepair
no longer charms
sands that once dared
brush only up against the steps
drift indifferently over the porch and
through the half opened door
the door itself hangs nearly unhinged
much as dull-eyed prostitutes
gaze unfocused past a satiated john
passersby barely notice
and no one ever goes inside
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem