Poem

I said farewell to the Falstaff of rebellious
youth and sat on the bus.

In the evolutionary process, not at once
was I a scatterbrain then a miser.

Nonetheless April hits me
on the head like a drinking bout
with a non-alcoholic drop.

Shouldn’t we put up a few nesting boxes
with a good aim in mind,
then take good aim and shoot?

To cut a long story short, I am devastated.



translated by Richard McKane




« back to the poet

---