MARIANO ZARO
Diagnosis of Men as They
Undress
Some men undress and cover
their chests—
arms folded like the front
legs of a praying mantis.
The waistband of their
underwear is flaccid but the socks
are tight and print deep
grooves on their shins and ankles.
Fully naked they tilt
their hips backward.
They bite their nails,
they have sex with their eyes closed.
They infuse you with shy,
post-orgasm sweat
that smells like malaise.
They build roads, bridges.
It’s customary for them to
give you an expensive ring—
platinum, perhaps canary
diamonds.
But the ring is always too
big or too small.
You have to take it to the
jewelry store to be resized.
The jeweler is clumsy,
dents the metal;
and that’s all you can see
now when you put it on.
Some men undress and tilt
their hips forward.
They also walk around with
their arms slightly open,
as if their armpits were
irritated, had a rash.
Many of them trim their
pubic hair or shave it completely.
They like mirrors, towels,
soap, body lotion, talcum powder.
When having sex, they
become enthusiastic, acrobatic.
They show great
willingness to please.
You almost want to give
them a Good job! sticker,
an A+ on the report card,
when they are finished.
One day they will hold
your hand (guide your hand,
to be precise) and will
tell you Put your finger here, please.
Don’t be prudish, do
it—one, two fingers.
They will bury their faces
in a pillow.
They will cry. They will
be forever grateful.
Some men undress and when
they remove their shirt
and leave it on a chair,
for example,
the shirt becomes a
fountain, then a lake.
They cannot see the lake
or the fountain, just the shirt.
This gives them away,
that’s how you recognize them.
You can swim in the lake if
you want, or cup your hands
and wash your face, drink
if you are thirsty.
Sometimes they walk in the
rain, alone, without hurry.
Talking with them for a
while you cannot tell
if they are naked or fully
clothed. Dogs lick their hands.
When they die, earth takes
them in like lost children;
and you understand that
they are going back home.
They don’t leave much behind—a few coins, a pocket knife,
a white handkerchief with
no initials—clean, neatly folded.
Mariano Zaro is the author of six books of poetry, most recently Decoding Sparrows (What Books, Los Angeles) and Padre Tierra (Olifante, Zaragoza, Spain). He has translated into Spanish American poets Philomene Long, Tony Barnstone and Sholeh Wolpé. Zaro hosts a series of video-interviews with prominent poets as part of the literary project Poetry LA.
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