West Hollywood Bath House, by Tim Robbins

He wears the shamelessness of
the place like the grace of a
sinner just come from confession,
as though the twink in the little
room behind the bullet-proof
glass, on whom everything is
too tight, even his skin, said to
his back as he disappeared into
the light, “Go in peace, and my
grace go with you.” The bus
has its aisle and its pews, more
intimate than those at St. Luke’s.
The driver concentrates apathetically
on our delivery from temptation.

Tim Robbins teaches ESL. He has a B.A. in French and an M.A. in Applied Linguistics. He has been a regular contributor to Hanging Loose since 1978. His poems have appeared in Three New Poets, Slant, Main Street Rag, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Off The Coast and others. His collection Denny’s Arbor Vitae was published in 2017. He lives with his husband of twenty years in Kenosha, Wisconsin, birthplace of Orson Welles. 

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