(lines written in the Omaha bus station)

Seeing them, I recognize the contempt
Some men have for themselves

This man, for instance, zipping quickly up, head turned
Like a bystander innocent of his own piss

And here comes one to repair himself at the mirror
Patting down damp, sparse hairs, suspiciously still black
Poor bantam cock of a man, jaunty at one a.m., perfumed, undiscourageable…

O the saintly forbearance of these mirrors!
The acceptingness of the washbowls, in which we absolve ourselves!