A Small Town Night

The streets are lighted with the listless rays
That splotch the prickly green of deodar trees.
Jackson vine is hung across the porch
Where lights shine black against the dangling limbs.

The servants vanish into massive doors
Far at the back of yardy bulging homes.
The smell of frying ham and baking cake
Seeps out into the humid clinging night.

Women with their hair conformably set
By chatty beauty operators move
About sedately decorated rooms
While playing well their patterned pantomimes.

The tailored men are hovered in a group
As purple grapes upon a common vine.
They are the ones who eat the ham and cake
And watch the women in their stage-set rooms.