Etchings
ETCHINGS
“Let me show you my etchings,” he said,
With a euphemistic smile.
The sort of situation,
Where she ought to have run a mile.
But, as an art student, she reckoned she might
Have something useful to gain,
And, at that moment, her mother’s advice,
Never entered her brain.
He took her down to his basement flat
And gave her a glass of wine.
Then he actually showed her his etchings,
Which she took to be a good sign.
They sat close as he turned the pages,
His arm loosely round her shoulder.
And she found it quite exciting,
When he started to get somewhat bolder.
But when he asked her to pose for him,
Alarm bells began to ring,
And then she recalled what her mother had said
Of the dangers of such a thing.
So she made up her mind, did up her blouse
And ran up the stairs to the street.
Where she took a deep breath and took the first bus;
Her education complete.
Copyright © Bryn Strudwick | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment