A bucket forgets its water,

一只桶忘记了自己装的水，

its milk, its paint.

装的牛奶，装的油漆。

Washed out, re-used, it can be washed again.

洗干净，重新用，还可以再洗干净。

I admire the amnesia of buckets.

我羡慕桶的健忘症。

How they are forthright and infinite inside it,

它们那么直率，内部存着无限，

simple of purpose,

目的很简单，

how their single seam is as thin of rib as a donkey’s.

它们就一条接缝，细得像一头驴的肋骨。

A bucket upside down

一只底朝上的桶，

is almost as useful as upright—

和摆正的桶几乎一样有用——

step stool, tool shelf, drum stand, small table for lunch.

垫脚凳，工具盘，鼓架，午餐小桌。

A bucket receives and returns all it is given,

一只桶，你给它什么，它就收着，然后还给你，

holds no grudges, fears,

没有唧唧歪歪，不害怕，

or regret.

也不后悔。

A bucket striking the mop sink rings clearest when empty.

一只空着的桶，撞击拖把槽，会发出非常清澈的声音。

But not one can bray.

但没一个会像驴那样吼叫。