PROVINCIAL OLD MAIDS

Provincial old maids
Seved up by the years,
Reading love-story magazines
And peering into balconies and windows...

Provincial old maids,
They of the needle and thimble who do nothing
Except consume each night
Café-au-lait and papaya sweetmeats...

Provincial old maids,
Who go out —if they do leave the house—
Very early on their way to church,
Walking with the domesticated waddle of a goose.

Provincial old maids,
Overripe, et cetera, who sing
In a melancholy way
From sun to sun: —Susana, come... Susana

Poor old maids, poor
Old maids so useless an so chaste,
Who make the devil say
With folded arms: —Poor old maids!—