In my imagination, you’d be bent
To take a taste of corporal punishment
Delivered by a long thin cane, designed
For great effect upon a girl’s behind,
Its power to sting severely much improved
When skirts that cover buttocks are removed.
As each cruel cut inflames your cringing rear
You gasp and groan, then shed a bitter tear.
Once over, fix your uniform with care
Lest tender cheeks be chafed by underwear,
Then stumble from the scene, hands vainly rubbing
Those regions where the rod has done its drubbing.
Later, before the mirror, you survey
The damage done and see, to your dismay,
Red stripes that cross your crevice, cheek to cheek.
You’ll not sit down in comfort for a week.