Who me? - a poem

[Sir_Nigel]

A lady once told me that what got her going

was a skilful poetic technique.

A well structured poem got her juices a-flowing

and a firm grasp of rhythm made her weak.

 

She longed for a master of language and style,

and her words seemed directed at me.

We talked about meter and rhyme for a while

whilst her eyes hinted what later might be.

 

‘You mean girls show their titties for second rate ditties?’

I asked in amazement at that.

‘Or for well-crafted verse they’ll dress up as a nurse

in black stockings and a little white hat?’

 

She smiled at me weakly, and with some disbelief -

the atmosphere suddenly cold.

But I’d brushed her off gently and with no small relief,

she was rather too grey and too old.

 

But if I’d known as a lad that a girl could be had

with some verse and a neat bit of rhyme,

I’d have polished my metaphors

and had ‘em in bed afore

they’d realised that my poem didn’t quite scan.