Boudreaux’s Butt Paste

Gag gift from my nephew
you sat untouched
in your yellow tube
on my bathroom shelf.

That middle-aged cartoon baby
leered at me from your label
each morning when I swallowed
my pills.

You stirred my interest.
Twisting off your lid,
I smelled you.
Plain and comfortable.
Not floral. Not like babies.

Tentatively,
I squeezed you on my index fingertip,
noting your smoothness.

Could you, I wondered,
help with my right armpit?
I spread you there.

Every winter since,
you have prevented chafing,
reliable as the lowbrow
nature of my pubescent nephew’s humor.
Sing to me, good paste,
of a quieted anus,
blameless pits,
and constancy.

Hannah Bleier is an aging spinster, writer, teacher, and performance artist. She lives in Brooklyn with her cat, Gertrude.