Saturday, 19 April 2014
She Sells Seashells
Whilst out on the board walk, and facing the shore,
With her strawberry top and Peruvian hat,
She calls to the men, invites them to adore,
Her snout otter clam, what do they think of that?
She stretches out on the beach, with her leather donax,
They come in droves at her profession of love,
For the incised moon; Her patrons stop in their tracks,
When she bats her eyes, innocent as the sparse dove.
They stroke her shuttlecock volva, sun-warmed and kept neat,
Her false cups and saucers, entice them further,
Her heavy bonnet on display, she smiles so sweet,
For she knows it makes the sale worthier.
They fondle her prized striped engina, and meet
Her Lazarus jewel box which is tempting and open,
They greedily handle her unequal bittersweet,
No piece of hers is off limits to them.
After a day at the sea, peddling pleasures,
For a dollar or two, in exchange for herself
What eventually becomes of her priceless treasures?
Forgotten trinkets on some sun-seeker's shelf.
-Laura Freeman -
April 19, 2014
The prompt for today is a bit of a spoiler, so I decided to post it after the poem. This one was fun to write! Much more fun that my usual Saturday laundry regimen... :)