A Love Poem To My Cat Caller About ‘My Booty’

By Teresa Spencer

Welcome to our new series “Love Poems to Cat Callers!” Every week we’ll bring you a new poem by Teresa Spencer, read by a different woman celebrating the joy that is being sexually degraded on the street. This week, Teresa herself reads her tender homage.


To the Derriere Enthusiast:

A prose poem to the man on H Street who told me my “booty look like it got somethin’ to say.” It does. My booty has so much to say, mainly that it longs to become conversant in the language of yours. What tender lovers’ symphony might we, together, compose? I’ll fart like distant clapping. You, like a rising snare roll. Trumpets naturally come to mind. But also base oboe. A soupçon of timpani? Low, mournful farts, more ache than sound. Quiet, whispered farts peeping demurely from under the duvet. Insistent, honking farts like when you’re trying to feed the ducks and you accidentally stir up a gaggle of aggressive geese. The kind of plaintive, mewling farts that make farmhands look up from their bales and ask if the cat has finally delivered her kittens in the barn. Propulsive farts. Sharts.

My booty look like it got somethin’ to say? So much. So much, sweet lover, and it’s all for you.



Lead Image: Flickr /

Illustration by Katie Tandy

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