Naked Night

“You’re so brave,” says
the white-haired old bear,
because I’m standing here naked
with everyone’s dick swinging
below their vodka soda.
“What a journey.” He says
he’s never seen a body like mine
except in porn, then smiles:
“You’ve got balls, kiddo.”
This happens all the time
at Naked Night, after we’ve
all checked our clothes
at the bar, and stood around
drinking for a while. Men
sidle up, their dicks dangling
like tube socks, or half-filled
laundry bags, or peeking
from a foreskin like
a toe from an old sock. Or,
sometimes, more like
a rolled-up futon, or as
hard, veiny, and colorless
as a cheap dildo I keep at home.
“You’re so brave,” they say.
“Don’t be ashamed of your body,
it looks just like ours,” as if
there could be no higher praise.