The Social Contract

One night while riding
the London underground
I watched a young man
(accepting what looked like
a friend’s whispered dare)
strip off his clothes
and fold them up neatly
until he was left
with not a stitch on,
except for the boots
he’d had to remove
for just a short time
to get his jeans down.

There he sat
on his pile of clothes,
buck naked,
clean and muscular,
and with a nice smile.

All of us in that car
gasped first and stared,
looking him over
(some blushing, some brazen),
then, seeing he meant
and would do no harm,
we smiled back,
his friends now
and friends of one another.

And any time anyone
got on at a station
we turned in unison,
waiting to see
what would come next,
only to relax
when the stranger relaxed
and became our new friend.

Still, someone someplace
must have complained
to someone else there,
for at one stop
a uniform
appeared in the door
and ordered the guy,
but softly, politely,
to put on his clothes,
which he did
with no fuss,
and we went our own ways.

Yet while he was naked
we were joined together
in sweet solidarity:
it was all so innocent,
so civilized,
so good.

-- Jack Anderson