Lament of a Worthless Woman
She left, no cheek turned pale, no lip trembled.
The doors did not hear the story of her death.
No window curtain overflew with sorrow and gloom
to follow the tomb until it disappeared
the news tumbled down the avenue its echo not finding a shelter
so it stayed forgotten in some hole, its depression the moon lamenting.
The night surrendered itself, without worry, to the morning
The light brought the voice of the milk girl, and the fasting
with the moaning of a starved cat of which nothing remained save bones
the fussing of salesmen, and the struggle of life
kids threw stones at one another in the middle of the road
while dirty water flodded the avenue, and the wind
toyd with the gates at roof tops, alone
in a state of semi-oblivion.