Fork


This strange thing must have crept
Right out of hell.
It resembles a bird’s foot
Worn around the cannibal’s neck.

As you hold it in your hand,
As you stab with it into a piece of meat,
It is possible to imagine the rest of the bird:
Its head which like your fist
Is large, bald, beakless, and blind.


作者
查尔斯·西米克

报错/编辑
  1. 初次上传:照朗
添加诗作
其他版本
添加译本

PoemWiki 评分

暂无评分
轻点评分 ⇨
  1. 暂无评论    写评论