Barry Peters
North Carolina Museum of Art
I prefer the naked version
flexed legs, fists clenched
naked muscle, naked sacrifice
the burgher’s eyes steeled
beyond patrons of the arts
beyond museum parking lot
beyond the twisted interstate
that strangles this city.
The neighborhood, illuminated
by acute angles of November sun.
Eruptions of crimson and gold--
fireworks in the trees!
The blue of someone’s new
vinyl siding—such effulgence!
And the garages, open like mouths
of caves. In the darknesses
men lift iron. Drag pulleys.
Lie on mats, crunch stomachs.
Their deep breaths. Their hands on hips.
That sun, unable to cast even a shadow on the walls.