That twin pair of bean-shaped
kidneys sit curved in the lower back
to lie on, like a sun-lounger, Las Vegas,
1958, by the kidney-shaped swimming-pool,
suntan oil, cat-eye sunglasses, the gurgle
of the filtration system, skimming out
leaves and other organic debris. Your
poolboy comes, his mesh basket
at the end of his aluminium pole,
skimming out your toxins, dissolving
them into urine for the journey down
the ureters to your bladder
for excretion, effective immediately.
Cranberry juice is an excellent
urinary alkilinizer, restoring pH.
You order one. It is delicious:
long glass, wedge of lime,
ice-cubes tinkling, slim straw,
hot pink paper parasol twirling under a
nuclear test-ground sky.