A Challenge...
From Didi!!!
Here's mine, a prose poem:
El Culo de Bettie
When Bettie’s ass takes a seat, it takes a seat. It makes no apologies, lays claim. If Bettie’s ass were to give up the seat, the seat would refuse to be given. The seat would be, forever, taken by Bettie. It’s not her fault. The seat becomes Bettie. But then, everything becomes Bettie. With an ass like that—
Bettie adds shine to a broke-bus-stop, with a peach like that. Bettie, set against any backdrop, catches in the throat. Bettie’s ass, in a field of starved alfalfa, littered with locusts—farmers forget their poverty. Bettie’s ass, walking away from you, into the wasteland of Newark, NJ—you can’t remember who died.
“It isn’t her fault”, you tell yourself. “The ass is too strong.” And it’s true. The will is too firm. To tame it, she’d need bad magic or good drugs, a terrible surgery. She’d need some help. Or the awful accident of many years gone. If she can wait. If her patience is strong as her muscle.
Bettie, the years won’t neglect you. This is a promise—that ass, in many years—tired and powerless. That ass is an end and the end is waiting, far down the road. We’ll all wait for it, dream of it. The ass and the end too. “The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul that seeks him.”
I could cry.
Here's mine, a prose poem:
El Culo de Bettie
When Bettie’s ass takes a seat, it takes a seat. It makes no apologies, lays claim. If Bettie’s ass were to give up the seat, the seat would refuse to be given. The seat would be, forever, taken by Bettie. It’s not her fault. The seat becomes Bettie. But then, everything becomes Bettie. With an ass like that—
Bettie adds shine to a broke-bus-stop, with a peach like that. Bettie, set against any backdrop, catches in the throat. Bettie’s ass, in a field of starved alfalfa, littered with locusts—farmers forget their poverty. Bettie’s ass, walking away from you, into the wasteland of Newark, NJ—you can’t remember who died.
“It isn’t her fault”, you tell yourself. “The ass is too strong.” And it’s true. The will is too firm. To tame it, she’d need bad magic or good drugs, a terrible surgery. She’d need some help. Or the awful accident of many years gone. If she can wait. If her patience is strong as her muscle.
Bettie, the years won’t neglect you. This is a promise—that ass, in many years—tired and powerless. That ass is an end and the end is waiting, far down the road. We’ll all wait for it, dream of it. The ass and the end too. “The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul that seeks him.”
I could cry.
3 Comments:
Thank you for participating. I have noted it.
Didi
Lively flare. It made me smile.
very funny! I like your work a lot
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