Could you have tabled your distaste,
would it have not erased your calm,
or lent you some alarm, if in 1968
on the label on the waist of your jockstrap
had been placed information that
the garment had been made in Vietnam?
In Twenty Seventeen the world is just
as strange and dangerous as ever it had been
in 1968 – but the collective change and shift
in global scene perhaps permits occasional
remission of its sins, while teasing us
with the ridiculousness of our past.
Let the man in his Vietnamese
athletic supporter run free as the breeze,
embraced by a jockstrap he knows
wins the race, even if he comes in last.
.
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