They hang like bodiless skins. 
Face to face, back to back, back to 

face—swaying, as the van moves 
and stops, then moves again. 

Cleaned of odors and stains of bodies, 
pressed crisp, giving and taking 

the heat and history of the flesh 
they covered and are ready to cover 

again, ready to soak up the same 
odors and stains, they swing, lock 

step, in an orgy of secrets shared 
in plain view as the van moves 

and stops, then moves again. 

Bio: Eugene Datta