I thought I would end with a few poems that
use old-fashioned elements of rhyme and meter and repetition.
And I would make the move through a poem
in the same location as "Beach Read".
The poem titled "Nude Beach."
"Nude Beach."
"We swam and sunk in our birthday suits
as did two dozen or so others.
It was easy to tell us newcomers, pretending
to read a book or snooze.
I dared not oil your back or stand far enough away
to take in the whole of your form and skin.
I looked up to the side and said,
sky, sand, in a kind of chant to hold my desire down.
I feared I'd lose the delight of the waves, the mild breeze
that after each swim left us chilled.
Watching the others was my other pleasure.
The blond and well-hung crew cut youth walking drunkenly
back and forth at the edge of the surf.
The other crew cut fellow who played
with himself faster and faster, a wind up toy each
time the walking mechanical boy got closer.
And the Earth dark half of the Vaders.
No tan lines.
The veterans, their demeanor betraying no desire.
The one had shaved his public hair --
pubic hair."
[LAUGHS] That's a good change.
"The disinterested slathering of extra lotion up cracks,
on cocks and scrotums, a few stretching exercises
has six of them all shapes and sizes
prepared for a volleyball game.
Thin clouds cast a bluish tint by late afternoon.
Though we lay or swam or walk together all day,
I've hardly seen you.
Just a hint of thigh, you're back above the waves.
And when we talk, your eyes.
When the clouds lifted, brightening our skin
in the towels.
The water is green.
I gave us all another itemizing look, our various affects,
our private dimensions, so numbed
by my lack of imagination.
I touched your hand, then opened a book."