The Gladiator

He straightens his back, an elephant appears,
and then retreats, unable to stampede
beyond the skin like worn suede.
The white skullcap that recedes, bobs.
He turns and stretches; it seems someone
is washing the dishes beneath his torso.
The rake he holds, with both hands, distorts
the tattoos on his knuckles so that they could spell
a n y t h i n g.

A Japanese girl appears, conveyed between distant hedges on what
I assume is a scooter. The gladiator looks up and squints,
wondering
whether the girl, being so straight and coffined, is ready to die.