Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.
Grimy little luncheonette,
The snow falling outside.
Seems like it has grown darker
Since I last heard the kitchen door
Behind my back
Since I last noticed
Anyone pass on the street.
A glass of ice-water
Keeps me company
At this table I chose myself
Upon entering.
And a longing,
Incredible longing
To eavesdrop
On the conversation
Of cooks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A cryptic poem about loneliness and social isolation. It has the stripped beauty of a WCW poem, but with a slightly more surreal twist.