I have this interpreter <br />grafted to my body, <br />He is inebriated and <br />conveys not me but a goon, <br />using all the wrong words, <br />facial expressions, <br />body movements <br />like a marionette. <br /> <br />I want you to know I am more <br />dimensional than that alien absurdity <br />that just came out of my mouth. <br />I want to woo you with graceful words <br />about the bittersweet essence of the world, <br />with lyrical passages about simple joys, <br />but my language is torn from a phrasebook, <br />and I’m stuck with phrases like <br />“Excuse me, Madam. Can you tell me <br />the way to the train station? ” <br />But it’s okay, I don’t know what I <br />would have said anyway.<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/foreign-language/
