Squeeze the wicked golden juice
out of six walloped lemons,
chop up seven large,
crisscrossing onions counter-clockwise,
add sea salt, nut oil,
crushed black pepper,
carrots chock full of carotene,
and fresh, flag-red chili.
Along with one well-washed,
cleaned special rapporteur,
who has been ready-sliced
into lucky dice.
Fantasize, marinate, play,
sing, bury it in a fire pit,
dance the polka and the mamba
on the searing burial mound!
Serve ashy at the edges,
garnished with denunciations!
Translated from Estonian by Adam Cullen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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