Big Apple Assets


Subtly sensing space, human bodies
slide intuitively seat to seat in subways
in Manhattan to ensure they don't
collide—touch of sexy Michael Jackson
moonwalk glide:  as if each ass were
shifting side to side to unheard sweet

soft beats of jazz, each riff of which
suspends the riding flesh before it lets
it pass—panache, with semi-quaver rests—
sufficient pauses to divest Big Apple
rears of any proximate impediment,
distress—to do what they do best:

gracefully maneuver into adequately
spacious nests.  Every urban culture
has its rush hour tests—ought's and
must's regarding navigation of the butt. 
But somehow New York City rumps
can sit—and, while they're sitting, strut.  
Copyright © 1999-2017 Juked