By Giles Selig

Sad news just came from my poor sister
About the beau she knew as Mister.

He had a mansion on the boulevard,
A maid and a Mercedes. He worked hard.
A ton of money in the bank.
My sister had her stars to thank!

The ladies in her mah-jong group
Had warned he mainly liked to shtup.
As Don Juans go, he was notorious.
Still, my sister found him glorious —
Unmarried, handsome, rich, a prize —
And nicely hung in manly size,
Which left her tired and often sore.
Yet Mister always wanted more.

It troubled her, to be his whore,
And yet she also wanted more.
It wasn’t for that reason only:
She also hated to be lonely.
So she’d consent to lay with him,
Indulge his whims and play with him
And pray to God he wouldn’t roam —
At least not while the maid was home —
For frankly she had grown too fond
Of Mister and his magic wand.
And hymns of thanks were often sung
For Mister and his magic tongue.

One night as he embraced and kissed her
She spotted on his lip a blister,
All pustulant and plump, a whitish lump,
And, in his teeth, a curly hair
That previously had not been there,
Whose color was a fiery red:
Had an Irish maid been in her bed?

My sister wondered, what to do?
She quickly added two and two
And, seeing how she had been had,
She asked him, “Mister, were you bad?
I feel so used! I feel betrayed!”

And he said, “You feel?
What about the maid?”

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Giles Selig (a pseudonym) writes anonymously in Rhinebeck, NY. His short fiction and poetry have been chosen for various print and on-line outlets, including Chronogram, Foliate Oak, Light and Dark, Broke Bohemian, Penny Shorts, Flash Fiction Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, Pilcrow & Dagger, Medium, Made-Up Words, Laughing Earth Lit, Henry, Edna, and more. He used to be an advertising/communications guy.