For Posterity

He fell backwards into quick drying cement.
It was something that he hadn’t meant
to do. For his trousers started setting fast,
and ended up looking like a plaster cast.

A stonemason was found to chip away
at this solid mass of clayey grey.
His legs were feeling not quite his own.
He felt like a statue carved from stone.

Finally his limbs were at last released.
His trousers, surprisingly, were not creased.
Two buttock shapes were in concrete created
Something that made him feel very deflated.

For nobody else with any temerity. could say,
Their posterior was preserved for posterity, this way.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!