They say the stripper understands
The value of her gauzy clothes.
The glimpsed, the incompletely seen,
Is more alluring than what's wholly
Shown. The river seems to know.
It hides behind a veil of leaves,
Its sparkling surface mostly hidden,
Filling me with expectations. I must
Try to go to her, to apprehend what
I'm convinced she's coyly implied
I should have, but, when I do,
I'm apt to see, as strippers’ suckers
Often do, a thing which, underneath
Its sparkle, isn’t much; in this case,
An unsightly muddy trough.