Watergate

Hot days, August budding
behind the moon, America
with the creeps. As
the figleaf falls, a titter,
a gasp   
              he keeps trying
to pull up his pants,
the fabric rips wider,
we shiver naked
in the elements

Under the bronze leaf
the genitals, lousy
and numb, small creatures
engorged, camouflaged,
tenacious. No chemical
the system can take
can loosen them all
from the short hairs.

Watch who you sleep with!
Look after the bedding! Wonder about
which way we're heading!

July 1973