At Five, Watching My Aunt Bathe
Steam, sounds of bathroom splashing, far but near . . .
My aunt is bathing and I'm on my knees
to peek, miffed that her body's out of range.
The key hole's clogged and I'm getting nowhere here
so it's out where my ladder clanks against her sill.
I clamp my fingers on it, my mail-off ring
from Captain Midnight (I'm a Space Cadet!)
but it's January so I'm getting a chill.
Her window's open; I hear her soapy song . . .
This one I know: "When They Begin the Beguine."
Far away, "obscene," that Black Watch, drum-rolling word
is marching this way. It knows, it knows I'm wrong,
but before its moment comes, for now, I see;
but God? Will he repeal my sight? Symbol wielder,
I release my shoe. It lands in her soapy tub. "Splat!"
And I've mailed off for masculinity.
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