The way there wasn't

anything to cover up

or hide from till

they heard in the sudden

leaf shiver

and fret of gravel

the lord approaching

through the garden

calling their name—

so, in the men's room

at the Spring Garden

Bar and Grill,

the man at the urinal—

whom I could hear

from outside singing

hunka hunka

burning love

head back (I imagined)

eyes closed waving

in perfect rhythm

to his singing

a tenor sax

of piss—stopped singing

stopped pissing

soon as he heard me

and zipped up

and looked away

as he shouldered

past me so I

in silence head bowed

could take his place

and he in silence

head bowed

before the mirror

could wash his hands,

the hands he might not

have felt the need

to wash at all

if I hadn't entered;

and when he left

there was a momentary

roaring of men and women

till the door shut,

then only the hiss

I made and the silence

of someone else

behind me waiting.