Slaves to Sensation

I saw the title of this poem
in the men's room, written
on the toilet paper dispenser.

No one says this job is glamourous.

***

I sing the body electric,
the ways in which both
the male and female forms
are appealing, and of
the desire to make both
the point of life, an
erotic desire and notion
that sex is what defines
relationships and roles
in our society.

I sing the body electric,
of our capacity to rise
above such crude forms
while we also admire them,
but instead use our intellect
to relish what may be found
and admired in each other.

I speak of a bond we all share,
of what we can all appreciate
and fail to judge, because
the body as well as the mind
is precious.

I sing the body electric,
of an ability to see and
a need to touch, but how
that alone is not enough.

I speak of an ascension
above the sexual to when
you will not be able
to say "well, that person
is that" and dismiss
or condone them for it.

I sing the body electric
because of its will to
compete, of the mind's
chance to say, yes I will,
or no, that is a waste.

I sing the body electric
and the body elastic,
to fit all forms, whatever
you are comfortable with.

I used to quite enjoy
Jillian Michaels, until
she went and spoiled it,
made the mundane judgments
on diet that ideally would
have no basis on form,
only the judgment itself.

I sing the body electric
and the ability of the mind to see.