Gods Have No Shame

On No Kings Day

I’m limping up too many stone steps 
and through a glass reluctant door,
into a gallery of giant gods and goddesses. 

I find a sort of marble stool or plinth
and set my rear end  on its cool.
I’m close beside a naked god, penis and all,
of which he seems to take no notice 
(while mortal passers-by, pretending not to look,
pass human judgments). 

Similarly this torso of Aphrodite
which needs no hands to shield her breasts
or the triangle between her touching thighs,
unashamed before an old man with a stick.

Shameless as our own Olympians
who need no privacy to steal, no plausibility to lie, 
no clothes for their nakedness,
no law to tell them what to do,
and nothing to impede their fake divinity.