Selma Siri

Tell me,
who is
Selma Siri

There’s this brass bull
that I once rubbed for luck.
Just the once though.
And the right horn only.
Rubbing the left emptied
your heart of love, supposedly,

so the right one was polished
to flashes of hopeful affection,
teasing the noonday sun.
And that girl named Selma Siri,
she was like that brass bull.
She was rock hard and gave

nothing hopeful when you
rubbed her up the right way.
She had a throaty sewing
machine sounding laugh,
needled us a bit, but we sure
loved Selma Siri’s name.

(c) Misky B 2014, All rights reserved.


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