Grace is that which covers our nakedness...

GRACE


Smothering my legs with shaving foam
in the bath late last night
I was reminded of it again:

I could only have looked
three-quarters of my twenty-four years
as I fought for a seat
in the crowded Fulham pub
that hard-bitten Saturday night

The mutual appreciation society had gathered -
The ageing rock'n'roll singer
awaited eagerly by his grainy-grey
"too-old-to-rock'n'roll-but-too-young-to-die"-ers

And me

And him -
the Stripper, the warm-up
whose baby black-boy body
glistened under spotlights
like Caesar's grapes

Butt-naked he trembled,
nervously self-conscious
and covered only
by the beauty of
his brilliant smile

Through grime and smog
he spotted me,
came over and perched
gingerly on my lap
He smelt soft as myrrh
and edible as vanilla
as he squeezed oozing
pink baby-lotion
into the palm
of my sweating hand;
His eyes implored me:
"Please be nice!"

Egged on by the baying
of an expectant crowd
I did the only thing I could:
I smeared the salve gently
onto his embarrassed face,
blotting out
our indecent exposure

We laughed and knew
we had an understanding:

We said, "No-one needs
to see us like this
and this won't be
what we're known for;
It's OK - we're spared!"

...And all I remember is
that he had the most
beautiful skin,
smooth like bubble bath!