Lolita Now Is Old

Lolita now is old,

She sits in the park, watching the young men pass

And huddles her shawl against the cold.

One night last summer when the moon was red,

Lolita, hearing an old song sung

And amorous laughter down the street

Left her bed —

Lolita thought she was young.

With ancient finery on her back,

A lace mantilla hiding her grey head,

She crept into the warm and alien night.

Her trembling knees remembered the languid pace

Of beauty on adventure bent — her fan

Waved challenges with unforgotten grace.

Cunningly she played her part

For to her peering age

Love was a well-remembered art.

He felt the fraud of those withered lips,

He cursed and spat — “Was it for this,

You came, old woman, to the park?”

Lolita gathered skirts and fled

Through the dim dark.

Lolita huddles her shawl against the cold,

She sits and mumbles by the fire. In truth

Lolita knows she is old.