My wife once broke my right second metacarpal
with a golf club.
She bogeyed the hole,
but I added a two-shot penalty.
We honeymooned on a cruise liner
to Saint Croix,
embracing on the party deck,
and no matter how secure the bandage,
I couldn't hold her
without feeling the fissure
in my bones
where she still lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem