A naked man is standing in my yard
He is staring in my window trying
to see my clothes
When I pass the window
I must crawl below the sill
He will not go away
When I call the police no one answers
Yesterday he saw me dressed for work
My dress shirt and tie were exposed
His gaze ravaged my slacks
That night he saw my T-shirt and jeans
I am afraid to take out my laundry
In the morning I will not raise the blinds
until I take off my clothes
First published in Poetry Now (not by either of the current magazines by that name, but the one that existed in California in the 1970’s).
Discussion
I did not write this poem because I am a nudist, but because I am not. It seems I have spent my life like a flea hiding inside my clothes. Clothes give us a place to hide our little lives. A flea who comes out of hiding gets squished. A flea that stays hidden survives. Of course, other people might not see me as a flea. They might see me as a very fine naked gentleman. But to find out I must risk getting squished.
No punctuation No clothes
Detail from “Sunset” – Acrylic Painting on Wood by Mike Smetzer
