PoemDaddy

by Ísak Harðarson

Skáldpabbi
PoemDaddy

At sundown,
daddy went on the hunt for poems.  

Armed with a tiny brown notebook
and three ball point pens
he disappeared from our line of sight
dissolved into the orangered horizon. 

Hopefully he’ll get lucky
and come home with many plump poems
safely fastened on the page . . .

Yes, hopefully, not like the time
his night prowl got him so worked up
that he composed himself in the foot

— although that foot, as a matter of fact,
was the bestselling foot that Christmas.   

Translated by Meg Matich.