The Goddess

I spent a pleasant evening
between the thighs of the goddess

I rolled up my sleeves
(I would have spat on my hands too
but a small crowd of lil' old ladies
in cerise cardigans and black jackboots
had assembled to watch
with their picnic hampers)

I sprayed her squeaky hinges with WD-40
raised then lowered her drawbridge
then (forgetting myself) raised it again

I trimmed the overgrown foliage
snip-snippety clip-clippety
then stepped back to admire my handiwork

I bellowed over to Keith
who was eating a corned beef
scuffler on top of a ladder

His job was removing cobwebs
and duffing up spiders

buffing the upper spheres of the goddess
with the world's largest Shammy leather
(verified by the ghosts
of Ross and Norris McWhirter)

He looked like Bon Scott of the Antarctic
in tight leather pants and muffler

While Keith was packing up the van
and putting it in the boot of his Ford Fiesta
I pottered round the back of the goddess
and carefully voided her coin box

Oh! Mama...

The day's work done
I set off for home
My two arms
swinging like sixties London
my two lips
whistling Roger Whittaker songs


Undercover of imbecility
Undercover of the darkest night
I returned to where the goddess lay

She looks so beautiful by torchlight

B.R. 08/05/2016

Venus Verticordia by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1868), Russell-Cotes Art Gallery & Museum