Bottoms Up | Poetry

Rod Butterworth, Rochdale

Daisy Jones was celebrating
With a glass of bubbly wine,
At the same time she was hanging out,
Her washing on the line.

She was celebrating losing weight
From 12 stone to 9 stone 3,
Had cut out chocolate, cakes and pies
Ate small dinners and salad for tea.

She’s not enjoyed the effort though,
Missed those things that tasted good
But grateful that the weight had gone
She felt so great as a woman would.

She stretched to put a towel to dry
Forgetting she was fat no more,
With her hands both busy fitting pegs
Her knickers fell down on the floor.

Just then a gust of wind got up
Blew her dress above her head
Her backside shone in the morning sun
And her face went very red.

Her neighbour, busy in his garden,
Mouth wide open, he’d seen it all,
“I’ve got marrows as big as that” he said
And ducked behind the garden wall.

Daisy, full of embarrassment,
Pulled up her pants, put her dress in place,
Then marched across to the garden wall
Accusing eyes and a reddening face.

She said “You better not say a word,
To anyone about what you’ve seen,
I’ll deny it! They’ll call you a liar!
And anyway – my bum’s not green!”