A Meditation of the Letter S

S is such a secessionist letter

It swerves rather snidely

It eludes and evades

The torrent of the swirl will always break away


Its big sexy hips sashay through the bar

Promiscuous and blithe it sends you a curve

Its buttocks and its bosom roll in the hay

Well-rounded and rebellious it sings a siren song


It can curse, and do worse, like Scarlet in a rage

Such a harlot, such a sinner, such an idiom of self

It is savage, it is sex, it is scintillating smacks

On the rack, on the back, with a cataclysmic whack


It’s a jump rump, it’s a sissy, it’s a coiled chord of vim

Quite vivacious, and salacious, it nudges left and right

Salivating, fornicating, it employs phallic “L” s

Yes it slides and it rides and there’s nothing it abides


It’s the South, it’s magnolias, it’s mint julips on the lawn

Loud ladies with big hair shouting Bible Belt cant

It’s South Carolina drinking dandelion wine

The rebel yell, the tolling bell, and then Fort Sumpter fell


It’s sweet and its sour, its got heaps an’ heaps of batter

Fried up fierce, in a fire, by a woman fat and brash

It’s a smoke, that’s unfiltered, that will make a voice rasp

You’ll become a haggard braggart but the song will never die


Copyright, David Gottfried, 2002



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