Take off your clothes.
Leave them on the floor,
cast open the window,
and stand before the world.
Be gawked at by passers-by.
Wave, if you like, or just
stare resolutely through them
until they hurry their steps
and shuffle, red-faced, away.
Walk out onto the yard.
Marvel at the sun coming back
to parts of you the sun has
not enjoyed in a very long time,
if ever. The sun does not
hurry along, red-faced.
The grass does not shy away
from your nakedness.
The mailman is coming up
the road. Smile, take your
letters and bills from him.
Watch him decide where
to put his eyes. Let him
look at you, if he will, but
he will scurry away.
Call after him, wish him
the greatest of days.
He will look back.
He will look back.
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
