They say that inspiration can be found in
the stangest places. Can I clarify that
inspiration is not the sort of thing you can find by looking. It’s an
uncontrollable force, that springs upon you from a dark corner, or a light
corner. Or a street corner.
That’s where I was the other day, this
morning now I come to think of it. Minding my own business, alone with my own
thoughts on a crowded street, fighting my way upstream a seemingly endless flow
of commuter traffic when it hit me. Not
literally, or that would take this story in a whole different direction.
By the time I arrived at work I had
composed a poem about bottoms and it was bursting from me so that I had to rush
my morning greetings, fumble for my keys, grab a piece of scrap paper and
scrawl it down as fast as my fingers would allow, before words escaped me, or
the similes grew legs and ran away.
When
the light goes green
I
look down,
and
there in front of me
are
two large white tuna fish
slapping
back and forward inside
blue
fishnet stockiings
Above
them sits a corduroy covered bottom
Soft
and round like a great
plump
easy chair.
Overstuffed
and bulging at the seams
Taut
haberdashery, faded wear spots and
cotton
fluff peeping out the sides.
Over
there, an anorexic stool
in
pinstripe trousers.
Tall,
spindly,
more
of a decorative piece than
a
weight bearing device.
Behind
him there’s a bucket seat.
thin
grey metal rods topped
by
a generous scoop
Voluptuous
curves gently
boldy
swiveling
That
man is a chair in a governement bureau
Outside
the Principal’s Office.
Hard,
firm, and square.
Unforgiving,
Unmoving.
There’s
a reason it’s called ‘your seat’.
So then, of course, I came to the title and
I was going to call it ‘if you don’t mind, I’m going to talk about bottoms’,
but you see I wasn’t quite sure whether that was right- was I talking about
bottoms? Or bums? or sweet derrieres? There’s butt to throw into the equation too,
and of course let’s not leave posterior behind!
Before i knew it – there it was.
Another blinkin’ poem.
It’s
time to get to the bottom of this.
Butts belong to men.
Stocky,
pudgy, hairy men.
Who
wear baggy trackpants with poor elastic waists.
Half
the time, you can see half the butt. This
is not nice.
These
men lean over to tie their shoes in the most annoyingplaces.
Bums
are what kids have.
Little,and
cute, and object of jokes.
Just
say the name ‘bum’ and you want to giggle.
It’s
supposed to be less embarrassing to say than bottom.
It also comes in handy as an insult.
You’re
a pooey poo bum!
Bottoms
are whatmothers’ have.
Because
they’re trying to educate their children to use proper anatomical terms. and
not
be ashamed.
No, don’t call it a willy.
Incidentally, bottoms also belong to
babies.
As
smooth as a baby’s bottom.
Rears
belong to farmers who have spent too much time with livestock
They
are just so familiar with slapping the darn things,
they
no longer give them the respect they deserve.
In
such places you my also hear use of the words hindparts, hind, or ‘hiney’.
Nethers
are the possession of poets, people who love Thesauruses,
and
those who grew up in isolated locations during the 19th century.
Imagine if these people went to the
Netherlands.
Bum-land.
Tee
hee hee.
Backsides
are what grandmothers have.
They
don’t have to worry about anatomical correctness because it’s not their
child.
They’re
polite and comfortable with euphemisms.
Passing
wind,passing away, and ‘little ladies room’.
Backside slots in quite nicely.
Derriere’s
are owned by naughtly children.
Especially in France.
Now
you just sit your derriere down in that corner and think about what you’ve
done.
Excuse
my French.
Gluteals
sit with the athletes.
They
are really nice to stretch.
You
have to contort yourself into all sorts of crazy positions, but it makes you
look really hard out. The gluteals are
made up of three main muscles; Maximus, medius and minimus.
Sometimes
I think I have an over-abundance of maximus.
