A Rooming House
Viscid, still, oppressive heat hung in the darkness.
Ignored by ceiling fan the air sat moist and close
against our enervated limbs.
Beneath the single sheet I rolled
onto my back, and quickly I was bathed in sweat.
The air had cooled and morning brought such fresh relief.
I woke, encrusted with the salt of my night sweat
and sought a place to wash myself.
Barefoot, I padded down dark halls
cool air against my face and stepped into the light.
I stood transfixed. Reflected in the mirrored walls
were women, tall, and dark, and lithe, their rich dark skin
accented by white briefs and bras.
Unselfconsciously, they dressed then
primped and combed, unconcerned with my embarrassment.
It’s not as though I had not seen, in prime of youth
and innocent of guilt, young women with breasts bared
at rivers edge or muddy tap
to bathe, or walking gracefully,
burdens borne on heads, a poetry of motion.
But these young office workers, dressing for the day
in western clothes did not look innocent to me.
Magnificent, erotic, yes,
but innocence did not occur.
I left, discomfited, to find a safer bath.
© David E. Moon, 2014 All rights reserved