Torn

It ripped its way through seams of inky cloth
Backlit by a blaze of blinking stars.
It scattered bat and fascinated moth
Before eclipsing Uranus and Mars.
With gibbous winks of alabastrine cheek
Peeping through the fabric of the night,
Rousing wolf to howl and owl to shriek,
It posed a plumptious bummer of a sight.
The birthday-suited booty beckoned eyes
To cosmic zones of bottomless disgrace.
There's room for just one moon to loom in skies -
A doughy derriere should know its place...
Not jiggling in the crack of Luna's snigger
But wriggling into slacks a whole size bigger.

Susan Jarvis Bryant

If you have any thoughts about this poem, Susan Jarvis Bryant  would be pleased to hear them