Nobody whispers because
it’s Sunday
even the sky seems a bit orderly
not fit for blank verse
in any case silence never
did anyone any good.

Someone ought to put
the wind up those Sunday clouds

Things that fit scare me to death
like wearing the right armour
for talking to people.
People are only naked
when it’s no good for anyone
for money because they think
other people do it
or locked in some box

People in money-box attitudes
are invisible to me
so they can’t expect me to
say what beautiful bodies they have

I’ll tell you when I see
a beautiful body
but somebody will have to help
me out of this armoured box first.