A Bathing Ape

A bathing ape streetside near old Bordeaux.

Anyone looks out her window where
the parasols dip in minuets, some bathing ape

recumbent, preening, tossing of
soapy sterling mites.

It is here love settles
and defers to the spider, finally;

the senator’s Big Seal of Velleity is smashed
to lozenges
of rose-white wax.

The bathing ape without bubbles,

without bubbles’ coquetry in the bath, his stomach’s strong laughing drum

lights the evening air.