I.
When I dived into the pool twenty-feet
above, I was a minute from drowning.
Lifeguard grabbed me with his noodle-slim
arms. When we surfaced, his chest hairs crushed
against my bare torso. My mother wasn’t there
and my father was at work. Lifeguard looked at me
with hazy elm-tree eyes. Are you all right?
I wanted to go home with him, in his angel hair-slim
arms and fall asleep in his full-size
bed, watching Rugrats. My grandfather picked me up,
smelling like musk and Home Depot, before
I could say goodbye.
II.
My grandfather took me to Sutherland
Valley’s locker room— Wait for me.
Don’t move, god damn! slapping my wrist.
It scared me to see six feet taller North Carolinian
men, with patchy-layered arm hairs and calves
as large as my thighs put together. Some hairs
were corn-husk yellow and sparsely black.
Part of me wanted a layer on my own chest
and a piece of me to be thicker than the pig
in-a-blanket God gave me. The bottoms I saw
come out of the shower were rock-concrete or hanging
like sacks of wine on a camel. Feeling
displaced as my mother did when she took me
to baby GAP, I kept looking at the shower heads.
III.
It has been eleven years since I’ve showered
in public. I took off my wet boxer-briefs soaked
in sweat from the elliptical and stood
there with cold air striking me like Ike Turner.
Traipsing around, with the unspoken rule men
understood. In the showers neither looked
at the other. Safe in the company of cold
air I let them look at me. I wanted them too.
A locker room is a possibility, inviting
you to trust enough to explore. From below
the waist I did not erect— even after a smile.
A man with a Splenda splendid smirk. Wide grin like Cameron
Diaz after botox and an Ichabod Craned nose stared
at me below the waist. I felt like Mike Brady
to his Carol, vulnerable but asking for it.
Coy but meek. His son called, waiting
by the door. I nodded goodbye.
3 Responses to “MEN’S SHOWERS (MEN ONLY) by Nic Dris”
Comments
« WE MOVED IN THE NIGHT • by Amy Corbin | Home | SPRING, FINALLY • by Lyndon Perry »
September 3rd, 2009 at 6:53 am
Deep, touching sympathy for a lot of people who have been forced to look at what they’d rather not see.
September 3rd, 2009 at 2:40 pm
This was interesting. I love the image of the wine sacks hanging on a camel! Lots of strong images throughout.
September 4th, 2009 at 11:54 am
Love the enjambment, makes the images really stand out. Really like this piece, the acceptance of the end especially. Well done.