Election blossom is out.
Jo is being interviewed
by an LSE Britannia
whose clothes are beautiful:
a long grey skirt creased
at the wheel of her crimson Volvo,
a jet-black cummerbund
and round her broad shoulders
a wrap, magenta, giving place
to hair of Vandyke brown
in a Victorian half-bun.
She looks like a suffragette doll.
Jo, who is beautiful -
jade wool to her waist -
spreads her fingers in answer,
but the other stares beyond her,
tensed like a warrior princess:
there is bigger game to track down.
She picks up her valise
and says 'See you'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem