Gis-re-borne, New Zealand

Water from metal spouts

sand to checkered tile

three kiwi and silver fern

coins paid for a hot shower

at the neighborhood pool


Four days touring sheep

lined coasts left souvenirs;

hair fried by Polynesian sun

skin stained with road muck


Five years of lending

breast, neck and tongue

to tourists of my body

I’ve cleaned their claim under

armpits and back dimples


Behind beige locker-room doors

drenched children screamed,

they are the consequences of sharing


Little palms slapped

greasy shampoo bottles

that tumbled towards my toes


Four eyes locked in sockets

of boys not yet curious

crossed under the beige doors


I aimed bursts of body wash   

near their 


tiny scrunched faces

pressed against the drain


Thirty seconds under

clarity of piped rain

makes blooming laughter

sound like ancient wisdom


My nakedness,

the kind only shared

with the innocence of cold rivers,




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