The Sibilance of Civil Sybil

Civil Sybil smelled of dribble,
Not the sort of spit that’s little
But the binding rings of boring things
Which chained her name, without acquittal—
To Civil Sybil.

She seized her days like marmalaise
And proliferated her interests, glazed
Over and over like many motors
Humming her name in puttering praise—
Civil Sybil, Civil Sybil, Civil Sybil.