naked as newts

That long ago we drove ourselves 

To the thermal pool and floated hours 

In its uterine calm, naked as newts; 

Then hauled our sapped bliss back uphill 

To the cheap hotel; and on a bed 

That had plainly borne the labors of love 

For at least three generations of roamers, 

We faced the choice of using the rest 

Of our new lulled ease in joining our selves 

In a trial knot of mutual skin— 

Our excellent hides that were each then fine 

As rawhide gets. 

                                The trial worked, 

Then worked (with frequent repeats and variants— 

Newfound knots as brilliant as any 

Known to an eagle scout) for the years 

Till I was effectively sheared off smooth 

Below the waist. 

                                Nine years of bearing that 

With no loud grumble; and here again 

You volunteer what we have left— 

Your same hide, seasoned a little but still 

As fine as a well-made glove containing 

A trusty hand dispensing grace. 

        I take it, new as a playground boy 

Confronted with the actual dream 

Of proffered skin, and offer it 

What I have now, the parts that work. 

They prove sufficient; you bloom on schedule, 

Old faithful mate. 

                                Weeks later, basking, 

I feel stripped clean still; in service again, 

A scow called back from years in mothballs— 

Eager to tow, dredge, breast high seas 

If that brief duty bears you on 

As it does me. 

 

[Reynolds Price {1933-2011} 'Twenty-One Years', from The Best American Poetry 1996, edited by Adrienne Rich]