Ape Man

As an ape I ran,
naked and cold;
highly mobile,
accused of crimes
and with arms
that reach down
to my knees.
Instead of walk,
I shuffle.

It was clear,
when I climbed
through the window
and dropped to meet
any eyes
that might have
been watching,
I was alone
and completely free
of duffle.

I stared at the sheen
on the floors
and the rugs like doors
that led to rooms
bare as crating.
There was not one chair,
no table,
in the fireplace,
no grating.

Upstairs, I found in a bed
a young woman sleeping.
I thought her dead,
hands folded,
no sign of breathing.

There was no relating.
I made up dreams,
afraid she'd awake,
be truly frightened;
but I thought her love,
if ever she gave,
I would surely take.

Still I was afraid.
I was an ape,
trespassing, naked;
and so afraid
and in panic
I slipped out
the window,
and ran down
the street.

No one was watching
except
a woman
on a bench
and the faceless cars
that were parked
nose in
to the curb.

I had, as I said,
disturbed nothing,
was myself disturbed,
aware I was hairy
and dirty,
not quite a man.