I thought I heard. Or wish. What shows more
respect, hats or pants? Please remove your limbs,
your tattoos, your gum, that smirk off your face.

We swam naked in the sting of the chlorined
high school pool, thinking of our grandmothers
to keep from getting hard. I prefer to be pant-less

and playing a tambourine when my time comes,
though I might want to keep my hat on. In high school,
I ran naked through the local Big Boy restaurant

late one Friday after a night of extreme drinking
and boredom. My father grounded me
for not wearing a mask like a polite streaker

and my girlfriend insisted I quit drinking.
Not such a leap, I protested—not like that naked
high dive that prompted hair growth

or public urination, or in some cases, tears.
The girls, segregated from us, were from all reports
miserable in their shapeless blue suits, still wet

from the previous class. We were red
or white when they walked in by accident.
We had no Blacks at our school. America

the land of segregation and the home
of the naïve. I ran right past the Big Boy exit
and had to turn around and run back.

It’s those entrances and exits that trip us up,
right, America? I’m trying not to double-entendre
myself to death, but never ask a naked drunken

teenager for directions or loyalty or to go to war.
I’m not a big fan of war. We all bow our heads
to stare thoughtfully and respectfully

at our genitals. Take me out to the old ball
game. Sorry. Perhaps we should all remove
our right sock for the pledge of allegiance.

“This Land is Your Land,” offers only
one choice. Every home is the home
of the brave. Our bodies betray us,

one and all. Is that in the song?
When Jesus rose after three days,
did he whisper the lyrics

to Francis Scott Key? I’ve genuflected
naked many times and hope to do so
many more times. I think Jesus

was naked when he rose, then they
quickly wrapped him in an American Flag.
“God Bless America,” by Kate Smith.

A for a dive. C for a jump. F for retreat,
surrender. I did a cannonball off the high dive.
Cannonballs were forbidden,

yet no one got hurt, or even wet,
except for me, who got the paddle.
But I rose from the dead and got dressed

and headed to American Government class
where I learned about the electoral college
and the sanitation system and Betsy Ross.

The teacher took attendance, and I said
Here! Just another daily miracle
in the land of the damned.