All I have to read on this bus are my X-rays:
“Lumbo-sacral spine and pelvis.”
Exposed film yet not a photograph.
Takes nerve to pull them out
of the mustard envelope before strangers
on a hot downtown bus. Radiated bony
architecture quite personal. Yes, it’s me,
penetrated by very short wavelengths,
but it’s you too.
Get that? You, staring. Never did
like anyone reading over my shoulder.
Mister nosey, you’re just a web of
skin and bones yourself. Stop ogling.
You’ll strain your cervical spine.
If you look at my bright green dress,
two legs stockingless, isn’t that enough?
Haven’t you heard we are more than
our skeletons? More than you can
discover snooping on my bare bones
like a frustrated, near-sighted grave robber.
Some call it self, some soul. Whatever.
It’s your own. So go back to your Lotto
window-gazing fantasies and
leave my bones alone
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