In the kitchen, the second pot of coffee
sounds like it's almost ready, and I ponder
whether to use it to translate a poem
of Gaza before the genocide, or work
on that Frost translation about trees,
overgrown with weeds of gibberish,
or perhaps just finish the de la Mare,
the easiest of them all, without
visions of the slaughter, no problem
in interpreting the vision the words
should paint before minds. Easy
poet, de la Mare, when hundreds
are butchered by a single bomb.
05.12.2023
#Poem #Poetry #Poems #Verse
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