The quiet choir triggered quite a riot
when the brethren of reverend Trevor
tricked the truckload of duckbilled
platypus police to swerving through a curve,
narrowly avoiding a family of birds
sitting in a wheelbarrow waiting for
the real pharaoh to make an appearance
with his personalized bow and arrow
that he stole from an auction with
his suction cup that was not a plunger
and ran down to the dungeon where
the tortoise finally caught up with
the hare, barely aware of the broken
chair charging a tariff if said hare
was scared of myths. Kissing
bricks, the tortuous crooks barely
missed receiving their gifts
that were causing so much grief
all along the reef of sand
and logs, allowing for the
silent choir to repent
for their misdeeds of misogyny
in rural Texas.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem