Jack & Jill Politics

And now, a poem.
Hey, hey, you, come back. I know—poetry announcements scare me sometimes too. I recall those days that after a long-drawn out political meeting, someone would announce “and now, before we adjourn, a poem from…”
Oh, God, not the …poet.
But sometimes it was good.
Anyway, this one’s not that long. Hopefully, it will be worth your time. (And it’s a tribute to those who deserve our adulation.) Oh, this has been published in the literary magazine Black Magnolias Literary Journal 6.1; the issue will be out for public consumption in April.
Yeah, yeah, I write the (biting) political prose. But I warned y’all that I’m primarily a poet, even when I’m avoiding being a practitioner of the art like the proverbial plague (and that happens more often than I’d care to admit). So, without further apology….

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I worship at the altar of the curvy black bottom.
There, before me, it salutes firmly and high, or it slings, like some playful pudding, malleably low. Puffy eruptions in an interrogation loop, etching brand new and wondrously disfigured boundaries between hip and thigh; a beautifully bizarre fair ride that thrusts humans beyond where they could possibly go, and survive, before thrillingly bringing them back. It has a life of its own, actually, delightfully un-human, a wonder that has sprung unfettered from the beginnings of civilization, the clueless human a carrier of perfectly split, bronze, and bountifully bald mounds of an ancient city, mechanisms of safety and assault.
“Jesus loves me, yes, I know, for the Bible tells me so…”
My lips begin, softly, slowly, mechanically. Then they’re passionate fowls for the spasmodic supplication.
My hardened heaven is she closing her eyes and sighing contently,
joining me in prayer.