BUM

BUM

Ah, there it goes,

that back-end masterpiece,

that peach of perseverance,

that wobbleless wonder of modern engineering.

That curve,

a trigonometric crime scene.

That architecture,

impossible, heretical, divine.

Not just an ass,

but a working-class miracle.

Born not of nature’s idle whim,

but protein shakes, gym aches,

and the iron-will of a woman.

Solid as a Ford Fiesta.

Proud as a marching band.

A symphony in glutes.

BUM!

Bearer of leggings tighter than budget cuts.

Raiser of spirits.

Shatterer of concentration.

When she walks by,

the world feels a little brighter,

the air changes colour,

like the sun couldn’t resist shining on that glory.

An Empress in trainers,

dragging the mundane into the sublime.

Perfection, so complete,

not even algorithms could get it right,

no app or filter could upgrade it.

A shape sculpted by sweat,

moulded by will,

burnished by time.

And me?

An old man, eyes soft with nostalgia,

caught between admiration

and the unspeakable, twitching itch.

that ancient urge to touch,

to reach back to a time when the world was full of such beauty.

I know, I know,

I'm thinking things I probably shouldn’t.

But damn, it’s hard to ignore what’s right in front of you.

Like trying to hold back the tide with a bucket.

I’ve got memories of my own,

and a lifetime of mistakes

that make me both crave and respect the things I’ll never have.

But still, I watch.

Still, I dream.

God bless her.

God bless her gym membership.

And God help me.