Mint Poem by Aleš Šteger

Mintafiction, minthane, mintabolism.
There the smell of mint grows out of bone,
Out of a neighbor's thumb and a stranger's shin.
No animal could do it, it's not worth repeating.

Mintatax, mintasound, mintaphysics.
For what stays, when only plants try
To heal a musician's rib and the mayor's skull.
No laxative could do it, it's not worth mentioning.

Even less who will remember, cannot forget
Endless fields of mint, ruts, indifference.
Mintamen. Mintanight. Mintanaught.
No dictionary could do it, it's not worth noting.

Translated by Brian Henry