Susanna Clayson: Bull In A China Shop

The bull stood irresolute, strayed from the road.
The matador faced him shielded by Spode.
Who knows how they’d found themselves in this impasse,
surrounded on all sides by china and glass?

The matador lifted his cape with a swish
and narrowly missed an old famille-verte dish.
The bull pawed the ground behind a display
of bone-china teacups arranged on a tray.

He snorted defiance across the Lalique
yet stopped when the owner elected to speak
in the hope his calm tones might put paid to their tiff,
and save his Ming vase and some rare Clarice Cliff.

It seemed that the bull was a true connoisseur
with some empathy felt for the entrepreneur.
He’d an eye for a good piece of Staffordshire ware
as he carefully edged his way out to fresh air.

The matador, though, was no porcelain fan
(he’d been known to eat meals direct from the pan.)
While the bull was transfixed by some finely-etched glass
the matador managed a quick coup de grâce!

His cape caught the edge of a big Meissen bust
which fell and was smashed into multi-hued dust,
but he soon paid the owner for his losses and grief
with a whole year’s supply of the best cuts of beef.