What is This?

One day away or a little while ago,

A young farm girl asked me to show,

Her where the city lights do shine,

And if with her I'd spend some time,

Amongst the darkened city streets,

To wine and dine and dance the beats.

For she had not seen the scenes,

Of flashing neon and beauty queens,

And rush and pace about a place,

That has as many turns of face.

So I escorted her at the ebb of light,

To see the concreted city bright,

And took her to a restaurant fine,

As in to the bustle her eyes were wide.

We feasted on a tasty fare,

And as we finished she asked "Now where?"

So I gestured to the outside sheen,

As we ventured on ageen.

Through hails and visions of city life,

That only be seen on a Saturday night.

So next we frequented a buzzing club,

And danced and drank 'til slightly drunk,

And laughed and chatted through to the morn',

And said she should be home by dawn,

So we exited the club to catch a cab,

To get us back to the green open land.

Back through the glossy city shine,

She thanked me for a night divine,

And like a butterfly's brush, placed a kiss,

That felt like velvet upon my lips,

Then reached down and took a grip,

And cooingly asked, "Ooh, what is this?"

As I strained upon my tailored plaid,

I knew the dawn would have to wait,

As over her shoulder I glanced a motel,

And told the cabbie there to fell,

Us onto the steps, as we then booked and romped,

She not worried as to the dawn her prompt.

Next day we slowly traveled to country glen,

Not caring how or where or when,

But soon upon the homestead lawn,

I spied my new to-be father-in-law,

With shotgun resting across his wrist,

As he scowled, "Well now, what is this?"

©R.H.Elliott 2003

Author's Notes/Comments: 

...perhaps in some parts.

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Athalia Lystra's picture

Hmmm, very interesting...
At first I could see myself interpreting this in numerous ways, but then as I read on I realized that this was just what it was; a perfectly clear story that was being told. The ending, however threatening to someone as little as myself, held a lot of sentimental value and I believe that if a piece can't do that, then it's really nothing special.