The Prophet in the Rabbit Skin Coat

She comes stumbling up the stairs and you caught her eye
The prophet in the rabbit-skin coat.
And then you realised your mistake
Because first she licked you
But soon she got her teeth stuck in
And she shook you about with the contents of her glass.

“You’ve got shdeep, mysterious eyes…”
She examines you more closely, swaying towards you from the top of the stairs.
“Silfer fox….” Sway, narrowing of the eyes, “Cunning fox,” sway, wine ebbs over the side of her glass onto your leg, “Shly fox.”
You laugh.
She turns to me, “ ’e’s a sly foxsh, don’t trust a shly one.”
She turns to you, “I’nt she beau’iful! Shis beau’iful!”
The glass swings up into the air (slop)
“She’ll leave you if you’re not careful. “Sh’ weel!”
She turns to me, “Oh you’re beau’ful,”
To you, “Oh she ees.” She sways in close, you laugh, wiping the spittle from your face. She drops a little more wine on your leg for good measure.

“Ma bruther got me this coat. Oh yesh. He’s in Irn Maidin. Ish rabbit shkin.”
“Ooh, how lovely,” I say, stroking the coat in horror.
She leans in, close to your face. “She’ll leave you if you’re not careful. Sh’ weel!”
And off she stumbles, in her rabbit skin coat.

And I can’t help but wonder if she really did
Get the measure of us,
The prophet
In the rabbit skin coat.

© 2014 Rosie Escott