Nautical Priest
It’s the middle of August in this park,
and I’m eating
pierogies with my bare hands. I’m sitting
where dogs pee, and I’m dressed
like a nautical priest.

Our bodies are opening
in this late summer heat. We are not
like flowers but like eggs.
Our yellow centres are raw,
but maybe the pavement will change that.

We are nowhere near the ocean
and my nautical priest duties
are limited. There’s a man pretending
to tai-chi in this park, and no one
has noticed he’s doing
the Macarena very slowly.

God bless this water fountain
and that woman’s anchor tattoo,
and God bless these eggs,
opening like flowers
in the mid-August heat.