One lazy summer night,
I checked into a sketchy highway-side motel.
The night was warm and moist,
And the moon was full.
Magnolia trees had long since dropped,
Their bloom's.
Walking through the room I found was.
As I laugh and can't forget.
The room was literally covered in lube,
Explicit grandma magazines were strown
Across the bed.
And a plethora of used dildos in every drawer.
A dildo in one drawer,
was half-dead and still vibrating, across
The drawer.
On the wall was an old,
autographed photograph of Charles Bukowski
Hanging crooked on the wall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem