On the High Street in Cologne
Evenings she walked back and forth
Offering it to everyone a real babe
Then bored of the sidewalks she
Drank till closing in shady bars
She hit bottom
For a carrot-top ruddy pimp
He reeked of garlic
Who coming back from Formosa
Snatched her from a Shanghai brothel
I know people all sorts
They don’t live up to their destinies
Wavering like dead leaves
Their eyes half burnt-out fires
Their hearts ajar like their doors
Apollinaire
translation © Jack Hayes 2010
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