from Odes: 30. The Orotava Road

Four white heifers with sprawling hooves
 trundle the waggon.
 Its ill-roped crates heavy with fruit sway. 
The chisel point of the goad, blue and white,
 glitters ahead,
 a flame to follow lance-high in a man’s hand 
who does not shave. His linen trousers
 like him want washing.
 You can see his baked skin through his shirt. 
He has no shoes and his hat has a hole in it.
 ‘Hu ! vaca ! Hu ! vaca !’
 he says staccato without raising his voice; 
‘Adios caballero’ legato but
 in the same tone.
 Camelmen high on muzzled mounts 
boots rattling against the panels 
 of an empty
 packsaddle do not answer strangers.
Each with his train of seven or eight tied 
 head to tail they
 pass silent but for the heavy bells 
and plip of slobber dripping from
 muzzle to dust;
 save that on sand their soles squeak slightly. 
Milkmaids, friendly girls between 
 fourteen and twenty
 or younger, bolt upright on small 
trotting donkeys that bray (they arch their 
 tails a few inches
 from the root, stretch neck and jaw forward
to make the windpipe a trumpet)
 chatter. Jolted
 cans clatter. The girls’ smiles repeat 
the black silk curve of the wimple 
 under the chin.
 Their hats are absurd doll’s hats 
or flat-crowned to take a load.
 All have fine eyes.
 You can guess their balanced nakedness 
under the cotton gown and thin shift. 
 They sing and laugh.
 They say ‘Adios!’ shyly but look back 
more than once, knowing our thoughts 
 and sharing our
 desires and lack of faith in desire.