This poem is inspired by my love for the female form, particularly the curve of a pleasing butt (which I try not to gawk at as if I’m a manner-less rube, but won’t apologize for liking), and my “Captain Obvious” observation that a “smart phone” crammed into a back pocket of tight jeans has forever changed the shape of said asses. Somewhere in the world, both Emily Dickinson and Charles Bukowski are spinning in their graves. If people wish to write, though, they need to write, even if it’s just flat-out silly. I picture this being read someday at a poetry reading, with voice “dripping” with sarcasm and also admiration (to clarify: admiration for the still-watchable female form, not for this godawful poem).
Oh Lumpy-Butted Hottie
Oh lumpy-butted hottie
Your smart phone can’t hide your curves
The rectangle in your jeans
Can’t steal the credit you deserve
From my fleeting glance, that is
(I know that we’re not dating)
I’m like a friendly uncle
Not someone to be hating
If our eyes should meet my dear
Please do not be alarmed
I assure you I won’t stare as if
I’d never left the farm
You’re young enough, alas, young lass
Enough to be my child
An aunt, perhaps? With bad taste in men?
Half so cute as you, but twice as wild?
A lumpy butt all of her own
A face open and kind
An ear for tunes, an ear for books
Open heart and open mind?
Could you reach into the pocket
Of your lumpy-butted pants
Relay to your lumpy-butted aunt
Your co-worker’s offer of a dance?
I assure you I’ll mind my manners
Till at least the second date
I’ll reach to caress her lumpy butt
And take a chance on fate
Will I find a “smart” rectangle
Or an “I-phone-less” curved ass?
Will I get a lust-filled smile
Or a slap for my forward pass?
Will she come into my room some night
Cast her lumpy denim on the floor?
Or will she bring her smart phone into bed
And I’d sadly show her to the door?
Because I may not be a thriller
Like some young men she has seen
But I hope to hell I can please her more
Than that rectangle in her jeans
All you lumpy-butted hotties
We men still think you’re fine
Though a rectangle is plainly not a curve
You’re not plain, you are sublime!