This Mid Life Crisis
This
screwed up
blotched paperwork
lies in the
waste basket.
This
'ready to be disposed of'
remembers being part of the fold,
in a pad with others.
This
once milky white
'yet to be defined'
turned out to be a doodle.
This
paperwork became
just another 'throw away'
of no real importance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem