The Applicant

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk, talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

Sylvia Plath


Blogger Anna said...

Forte e frio!

6:13 da tarde  
Blogger Damon said...

Grande poema! Já agora, o que achaste da Gwyneth Paltrow a fazer de Sylvia? Só por curiosidade...

10:35 da tarde  

Enviar um comentário

<< Home