Selma Siri (version two)
There was this brass bull
that I once rubbed for luck. Just the once though.
The right horn only, as rubbing the left
emptied your heart of love, as if,
but the right one was polished to flashes
of stroked affection.
And there was this girl who waited tables
nearby. Selma Siri was her name.
That girl, my-my, she was no polished bull –
she was rock hard and gave nothing away
when you rubbed her
the right way. She had a throaty sewing
machine kinda laugh that needled a bit
but we loved Selma Siri’s pretty name.
Written for Miz Quickly’s prompt Day: 16
Originally written as poetic form: Dodoitsu x4 stanzas, and reworked. My original poem is at http://miskmask.wordpress.com/2013/03/25/selma-siri/