Copyright 2005 R.D. Ellison, who mightily dislikes the new formatting used on this site but is still perfectly willing to do heinous things to those who plagarize

In Thanks

“Ears sharp, girls, stand stall, girls, look alive, girls;

Lord Myl, so please you, these are them. There, girls,

Here’s your man, Leron Ancel, no low hand,

And no rateless bitch his master seeks him –

‘To be his who is mine, safe in my thanks

To my friend’s true and able service.’”

---

Barked at and beaten and left well alone,

I’d spent most my life bound, yet almost free.

Never I felt I was a slave until

My master took note and favored of me.

I’d planned to pick from the first ten, but Myl’s

Slant-eyed enjoyment and my loss of words

Pushed me on, unable to outright look

Them at attention for new and old lords –

With me as one! Caught the eye of my own

In desperation. “Her?” His head he shook,

Grinning, “Come, Ancel, she’s too short for you,”

After a sweeping and unsparing look.

Six inches taller yet, and tighter wound,

I proceeded to the end of the line,

And the dealer, thumbs in his pockets,

Nodded, “Now, seeing them the first time –

Any qu’ries? Mister Ancel? My lord?

Did you see the second girl up in front?”

Myl smiled; I looked away (you bet I had),

And the price made even Myl hesitant.

“She’s fresh,” said the dealer. Said my master,

“You don’t claim her less than forty.” “Twenty-

Four, and did saw you her breasts?” “See her teeth, would

Be more to the point.” “She’s trained thoroughly.”

“Trained? You said fresh.” “In servility.”

But I offered nothing; bargaining died.

The women – there – most shrewdly angling,

But one smileless, a gnawing shame to hide –

As for me, I did not flush or stumble,

Though it seemed so and visible. Too much,

I felt, of me, but time was pitiless

In its going, and so, with such

Pained awareness of height – and limbs – and there –

I did look, bold and quick, and settled on –

“Master,” I mumbled, “if you please – ” He came,

But frowned; clearly I had cut short his fun.

He questioned her long; her tone was haughty,

But answers were satisfactory all.

Myl asked me sure, and shrugged. “Well, Leron,

Please yourself.” (True, able service, recall?)

And so we were married, saying yes

When so bid, holding ill-fitted hands.

Contemtuous of me, she was able to be

Defiant in her voice and stand.

Yes, Tabithy’s mean as a starving cat,

Thinks me a coward, would despite me still

If I weren’t, is ugly in stirring up

Between Myl and me ev’ry sort of ill.

‘Course I’d swap her for my old peace, but not

For one of the prettier from that line.

At first look I’d seen hers was the only

Fear and disgust at it all that matched mine.