Naked Baby Photos

The lighting in our old snaps is soft
and brown-gold, like a 70's lampshade.
It's as if nostalgia has been inked
in at the sides, or my mother
dyed the single tuft
emerging from my monkey head
ochre.
Me as tall as my own shin now,
plonked in a paddling pool,
beaming like a drunk
and topless, without
a self-conscious self-hug.
The only time I'll bare that chest
at 23, which, even now
hold only slight relief over my ribcage,
is in dreams, the kind
where the lighting is tan,
and the motel owner,
oblivious to my nudity,
is a penguin.