Poetry by Yves Ditroy
translated by Chaz Pugliese, France
Priorities
We argued
All the way back
LOUD
When we got out of the cab
I was schocked my only concern
Was
How much we should be tipping the driver.
Most of the Time
Most of the time I find myself
On the side of the river
Where the sun never seems to shine
Most of the time.
No Title
She lied naked on my big folding bed
But I failed to notice the big
Welcome sign
I shut the door quietly
Not to distract her from the symphony
Of thoughts that was no doubt playing in her head.
Cell
We got cut off sorry
No, I wasn’t low on battery.
You kept breaking up. Faded.
You always do.
In Vain
That could be less useful
Than a waiting lunge
When you don’t have anyone slash anything to wait for exclamation mark
Please check the Literature course at Pilgrims website.
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