Bare Assonance

(For the Mooning Youth)


Pull up your pants, my youthful friend;
Cover your butt outdoors.
This fashion’s far more fit for apes
Parading on all fours.

Pull up your pants in company;
Contrive to ply your wit
To win the worship of your peers,
Not that on which you sit.

Though buns be tight and boxers bright,
Preserve them private, please;
They’re there for intimate delight,
Not for the public breeze.

The shame you drop in derring-do
To bare your derrière
Will rise to blush your other cheeks
More suited to our stare.

Though shock’s now sweet, posterity
Your rump in underwear
Will mock when tastes alter to post-
Posterior-en-plein-air.

So tighten up your belt, my friend,
And keep your keister furled;
Don’t show this lower fundament-
Al standard to the world.

Toward unclad rear attentions veer
From higher-minded goal;
Pull up your pants and others’ eyes
To the windows of your soul.