Three Poems

Fred D’Aguiar

Buttocks

Pert cushions with a limited supply of blood,
and heat. Buns that can grab.

They rob the high-jumper of that extra centimetre,
costing the world record.

They deny the ballet dancer that perfect straight line
while tucking in the tail.

An innocent slap on the backside is never
an innocent slap on the backside.

We would take from our buttocks to save our face
but not from our face to save our buttocks.

Buttocks are a source of worry for those who look over
their shoulder at a full-length mirror.

Hands

If we had to walk on them
our perspective would he preoccupied
with ocean-beds and the earth’s shifting plates,
with finding earth’s centre, all at tremendous cost.

Not with space exploration,
not surface to air to surface missiles.
We would not clear a forest
because we would not be able to see

literally, the wood from the trees.
We would forage with the manatee and ground-hog;
we’d have olympics for the most hand claps
from a hand-standing position.

We’d see God’s face in a hand-jump
that could show both palms
long enough for us to make out
the broken M’s on them, that stand for Mankind.

Eyebrows

Ones that meet
bridge the left side
and right side of the brain.

Bushy ones, thick
ones, are like hats
pulled over the eyes.

They are not sexy
though the bearer
of bushy eyebrows is often

highly sexed,
and must pluck them
to study and pass exams.

Shave them off
entirely and your face
becomes a big forehead;

something that
invites a slap and jokes
and shines with anxiety.

People who talk
with then eyebrows
have an extra dictionary;

we’d be foolish
to raise our own
and not join them;

especially
since they may become
President one day.