occupied by old aches and obstacles -
hard work hard face hard up for children
begging chocolate, chasing a tank
down the street like it were an ice cream truck
selling those blue-white-red striped popsicle
rockets with their hands outstretched, calling
stop! please, stop!
but it's turning the corner
already & out of rocket launchers,
anyway.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem