A Curious Exhibition


Come on, youguys!
someone shouted;
Fatty's going to show us
her bum!

It was my first striptease;
I wondered if I should dress
up.

We were a mixed bag, we
Audience; spectacle-ators;
narcissistic
bum-watchers,
boys and girls;
we had both kinds.

Will we be required
to show Fatty
ours?
          Mild anxiety
          of the Nether kind.

But no, she was to solo.
Relieved, we filled the stairs
perhaps to her attic
but I think it was a closet.
Again, I do not know why.

She backed in; that I remember,
and I thought she might intend
that we not connect the front
with the back.

So we, invited guests
looked, in the manner
of one attending an exhibition
of some artist
who is presenting works she thinks are rare
though they are only
Fat;
mild embarrassment
and a tendency to exclaim
inappropriately.

She bade us touch
her rotund tush;
I think we did;
I know I wondered
Why.
What was the advantage
in touching
a warm mushroom?
Her name was Florence;
I thought she should not let us
call her `Fatty'
and rob her of what dignity
her huge bum might have left her.

I thought many things:
That it was hot.
That it was close, in there.
That I really ought to be paying
Attention; this was a Something
to her.
And that it was not
very interesting;
I'd rather hunt frogs.

I think that you have probably never seen
Fatty's bum;
boy, that was a fat
bum,
he explained,
bewilderedly.