butt...

With a practiced graceful motion
she rose from her squat,
pulling her pants up, _sans_ undies,
to cover her butt,
rising between parked cars
like a modern Aphrodite,
but her waves flowed from within
to moisten this arid San Francisco street.
But what was its meaning?
Another homeless hooker forced to kneel
by another city without charity, without toilets
for those who are without?
Or an act of grace to adorn my mile long thirsty trek
to a nephew's group exhibit
where his somber images compress reality,
express salvation _in extremis_
amidst others' misty images that miss the tragic,
miss the magic
of the nearby streets,
their painted abstractions or unknowingly
abstract realities
missing the point
of a curvaceous naked butt
exposed graciously through necessity
in a hill-girt city
named for a mendicant saint
who provided necessities
unto even the least sparrow, newt, or toad.
        sam friedman