Making love to an old woman is like
entering a house shut for years on sale
dry in the center, the walls all moldy
the air every where pretty musty
the wrinkled plaster falls on the floor
cobwebs hang from the crusted ceiling
the closets cluttered with trinkets and junk
the plumbing is clogged, the taps are dry
the toilets do not flush, how hard you try
the furniture is dusty, the doors are creaky
the power is off, you can't see in the dark.
The brochhre says it is worth the price
you can fix it and restore its past glory.
I walk out and say - no baba. I can't live here.
I would rather rent a newer condominium.
And walk out any time I like.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem