Pesticide
Go spend a moment in busy pharmacy
Open eyes, and ears
Pretend on looking and searching.
“Why the hell? ” You may ask.
Not of them but yourself.
They are sick, lack sleep and whining.
Mostly old, at counter and on cane; are leaning.
“Live like this? ”
It’s your turn at counter
“Pesticide? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem