Puritans

There are no small ones.
All big boned

men and women
without a hint of child's play.

They creak
as they walk

like doors left open
to bang in the wind.

One imagines from their gait
that years from now

they will make adroit bowlers.
Meanwhile, they whisper

careful not to sound rhythmic.
Dovegray, lavender and eggshell

are the only colors
and even these must be bleached, muted,

in order for their profiles
to emerge on cold cash

as if doodled there
with invisible ink.

If not optimistic,
they are eternally democratic

and can be handled
without "contamination."

That word
has no meaning for them.

Touch them
as much as you like,

wherever you please.
They have never felt

the desire to reciprocate
and for that they are grateful.