The stapler teases me
as i sit at this desk.
he asks me, blankly,
mouth hanging open,
'what are you doing? '
i expect heavy breathing
to issue from the space
between his upper lip and lower jaw.
my hand twitches to grab him, squeeze him shut,
- resistance.
persistance.
the more days i don't think
don't think
don't think
don't think about...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Not bad at all. Light-hearted and witty!