(lines written in the Omaha bus station)
Seeing them, I recognize the contempt
Some men have for themselves
This man, for instance, zipping quickly up, head turned
Like a bystander innocent of his own piss
And here comes one to repair himself at the mirror
Patting down damp, sparse hairs, suspiciously still black
Poor bantam cock of a man, jaunty at one a.m., perfumed, undiscourageable...
O the saintly forbearance of these mirrors!
The acceptingness of the washbowls, in which we absolve ourselves!
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