Asphalt baking beyond
My blood temperature.
White-and-orange wrappers
Crumbled against the curb.
Taco Bell?
40ish men with bald crowns
Drive a College Hunks truck.
Ninety degrees under trees
Pretending to be umbrellas.
Lizard clings to brick
Halfway up a wall
Smothered by dying vines.
Woman in blue
Seated in shadows
Devours tacos from a box.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
don't you hate drawing blood?