Streak


What stares do you greet as you run down a street wearing a suit you were given on a birthday you can never recall?


The wind blows through your hairs (and not the ones on your head) as you run toward nowhere. The pavements below you, embedded with life.


You left its worries behind With the shirt off your back. And at the drop of more than your hat They were gone with spectacular indignity.


And now they look and laugh And stare and scoff And point and ponder Why would someone do what you do? Because you’re


Naked.


Not nude. Not nudity with all its natural nature and mature maturity. Exposed and helpless. Bare and defenceless. Unclad, unconcealed, uncovered, undraped, unrestrained, undressed, unprotected, unveiled, unclothed.


Naked. As the day you were born. 11


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