Arse Poetica

On the bus today I saw

the future of my ass:

full, wide and deep

a cushion--no, a pouffe--

squeezed into jeans

but an Astarte for all that.

True sitzfleisch.

This is what happens

when you become

the home front,

settle in a little

too well on the couch,

start to become one with it.

Carry it with you

wherever you go.

The slump and the sag of it,

the nagging implication that

you're tired of dragging it.

But--what a butt it was!

The one I have now

does me proud.

The tilt of my ass: sass.

The grade of my ass: pass.

The future of my ass: grass.