Given the metal detectors, long and rushed lines,
unfamiliar surroundings, and general intimidation
of a big city court house for a country boy,
I count my blesings that the casualties were only three:
One steel fork as weapon I did not guess
Knowing a pencil can serve as shive;
One Fisher bullet space pen gift;
Respect for politicians who lack the courage
To face the color gray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem