'Twas early in
December, as vaguely I do remember
When Miss Susan came calling at my
door.
Scantly dressed was I, desiring Miss Susan lacked eyes to
spy
Martha Jane’s accouterments on my floor
Martha Jane just
shortly retreated, our body and souls depleted
When Miss Susan came
calling at my door.
Winter wind shall never chill, the likes of Miss
Susan’s shrill
Martha Jane’s accouterments on my
floor
Flashing thoughts
filled my eyes, the number of ways one man dies
When Miss Susan came
calling at my door.
Sans clothes yet fixed to fight, I kicked them
out of sight
Martha Jane’s accouterments on my
floor.
On my back and face to
face, as she pushed me in my place
When Miss Susan came calling at my
door.
Moans and screams might still be heard, yet I uttered not a
word.
Miss Susan’s accouterments on my floor.
Barnum Taylor ©
1998