A girl is softly laughing at the end of the hall.
As I stumble, half asleep, to the whisky in the bar.
My wife is sending letters to her kids in Tel Aviv
as the maid brings in a trolley overstacked with hotel sheets
There's a whistle in the background,
could be a kettle out of sight.
and we all go out like lights.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem