He wore wings made of cardboard
Fidgeting, waiting to cross a busy freeway
Torn dirty jeans and a faded sports jersey
Rubbing his cracked hands together, perhaps he just got off work
He looked anxious but not about crossing the freeway
He should have been anxious about crossing the freeway
7: 00 in the evening, it's dark enough to put on the headlights and those returning from work, running errands, picking up children drive fast
He wore wings made of cardboard
They were attached to him with the strap from a backpack
The wings were flat and square like the wings of a World War I fighter plane
The cut edges were uneven and I pictured him using a box cutter to make them
He wore wings made of cardboard
And who knows what delusion provided the updraft for him to soar upon
I wore wings made of responsibility
They were invisible but I felt them nonetheless
They had the opposite effect of real wings
They were heavy and they pulled me closer to the soil
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem