I don’t recall all that much talk in locker rooms.
These are typically quiet as reflective libraries
unless involved in team sports.
Then locker room talk may review a well played game,
but, again, those played less fortunately,
not really too much to say,
sometimes thinking of other more nutritionally feeding things,
places in time’s perpetually receding memory.
Rooms for locking up over yanged secrets
are not known for either quality or quantity of affluent speech.
These are more about actions outside these locking up rooms,
reveling to reveal ourselves and others
an embarrassment of self-ridiculing riches.
But, I do recall
I thought I could hear which brand of ecopolitical life
a locker room voice would choose,
usually somewhere between
raping victims only good for bullying
and standing in solidarity with teams and leagues and games
where we learn more from losing together
than winning apart
in superhero myths and antics
of unfettered self-supremacy,
hubris of engorged,
yet over-rated disengaged,
penises with hands for grabbing and taking
what can only be given as an intimate gift.
In some ways
we are all locked rooms,
that causes tremors
and yet terror’s opposite.
What names we have found for ecstasy
of unlocked talking and walking,
playing and working
and wondering how could ecstasy sustain
through decades of morning and night time
dressing to undress routines
and all invitations in between.