You find it irritating when I repeat myself
in gladness - the new rule is I must write
it down when I’m happy as my talking is
painful to hear - good, I’m writing it down,
let me not be the thorn in your flesh sent
by the Lord to keep you humble, let me
get out of your hair so you can be superior
Since you keep pointing out how inferior
my family to your brilliant forebears, it’s a
pity I don’t fall down dead in the presence
of so much excellence - I share your wish
that my offending family and I might be out
of your life rather sooner than later - and -
I commiserate with your fate…
21 September 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem