13thWR

GUANGZHOU

On the sidewalk-bridge
above the heady din of semis
and exhaust,
your virgin eyes, bright,
the gentle slender of your body's curves --
that pure skin, smooth and new
like your supple, weak-muscled legs,
slight of fat.

On your head, that whiff of hair
looks fresh, still from birth --
your eyes pristine and somehow
unafraid,
as if this place for you is natural.

Maybe this is somehow better for you,
for who could otherwise imagine this --
you with no clothes to hide that slit
between your legs --
(is that the reason you're here?)

Here, alone, naked,
your back's clean skin
touching the asphalt sidewalk's
dirt-fatigue,
an outline of urine
inches from a white chipped cup
as large as your head --

I wonder if all your days are like this --
that cup with coins somehow
worth more than being with the
one who cares for you --

Maybe you need no clothes
in this heat (do I ?),
and there is no doubt
that your silk-smooth skin and
one year-old body is beautiful,
and your eyes are clear-aware with
passersby who somehow do not see,
or if they do, what do they think?

Is there no one to call?
Or do they think
the cup suggests you belong there,
as if moving or taking you
would anger someone,
somehow disturb the universe out of
its proportions.

- Ian Haight