I sit perfectly still,
bare-naked, atop a step-ladder,
my robe draped over a rung.
My ass is numb,
I stare dumbly at a crawling clock.
One pretty art student,
swishes charcoal in her sketchbook,
winks at me and laughs.
I feel movement
where anything but perfect stillness
would bring growing embarrassment.
But, I think, it could be worse.
If this was a poetry reading
I'd be baring my soul.
-Larry Schug - Avon, MN
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