Ode to my Bum

O bottom, wherefore do thou jiggle so
and sag beneath the hemline of my skirt?
With every passing year you seem to grow;
in time you will be dragging in the dirt.

Thy cheeks are marred with spots and cellulite,
and stetch-marks hover ‘neath your pale white skin.
The left one seems more fulsome than the right
when you should be a perfect pair, a twin.

Would that I could remove your veins and spots
with creams and unguents specially prepared.
Then hoist you ‘neath a sunlamp bright and hot
to take away your pallor and make fair.

But how to make your wobbling flesh lay quiet?
My only recourse surgery – or diet.

(2006)