Bottoms Up-a poem

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter… ©

Whenever I design to lift

my bottom from a chair

or bench or patch of grass

or some other apt locale

where bottoms take their rest.

with exhortations loud

and warnings dire,

I try to do so without hands.

No fists balled hard and pushed

along beside my solid

but reluctant thighs,

trusting in the middle

of this mass of flesh

to make the bottom rise

without assist.

It never works.

Apparently all the clever lines

and memories and hopes of ages

past have settled to the bottom,

as the laws of Newton

and of gravity insist they must.

Alas, their length and breadth

are great, too great

for that now spreading middle,

however expansive it may be,

by itself alone to cause to rise

the weight of so much thought…

JRMcF

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I tweet as yooper1721.