Things We Do in Korean Spas to Pass Time

That list doesn't begin with

stroke
suck
lick

We watch old men.
We listen to the sounds of children running around, like this is a playground.
Sometimes it seems like a pedophile's playground.
But I try not to think about that.
The cute Persian guy's penis distracts me.
You know, the one that flops back and forth.
The one attached to the body with the tattoo that runs the entire right side of his body.
Over his lats.
I didn't see that when he had his laptop open and seemed to be engrossed in
some sort of interesting email exchange or porn or personal anecdote
that looking at someone pass by reminded him of that had nothing to do
with what was on the glowing screen in front of him.
It's like the bank of laptops that flanked the window of the Starbucks on
16th and Eighth
years ago in the New York of my Twenties.
But these guys were in khaki shorts and t-shirts that allows them
a reprieve upstairs in the co-ed room.
These seriously minded adult men seemed to be using the Korean Spa
as their mobile office.
I suppose it's just as expensive as Starbucks after
three coffees
and a sandwich.
Maybe even cheaper.
I can still hear the children.
Aren't their parents around?
I saw a white father and his white children--
maybe European, maybe Not--
giving them the benefit of the doubt.  And they
were all marching around the men's area:
the father or father figure
and his two sons or wards and their sister or young female friend.
They went through the showers in soaked bathrobes
that were meant to protect them from the gaze of
the naked men who all of a sudden felt like they needed to
cover themselves up in the bathroom
or in the grooming area
or the wet area and the steam room
because now they were aware something was inappropriate
because a young girl was in their presence.  In the men's area.
The men's area for men.
This normal foreigner or clueless American
paraded these young children around for
at least ten minutes
through the bathroom and the grooming area,
the wet area and the steam room.
Innocent maybe and maybe not.  Men should be allowed to
enjoy themselves and not censor themselves
even if it means enjoying the company of other men for
lascivious and platonic purposes.
I come here to be in the company of men,
alone in my thoughts, as I contemplate what it means to be in the company
of men.  Of myself.  This man who I have grown to be.
Just me and my laptop and them and their laptops
and all of us with what lies beneath our robes
and towels or shorts,
what's behind the partition,
behind the candelabra,
behind the flip screen covering our genitals
and our true intentions.
As I sit here and tip tap--
clip clap--
the keys, I find myself
writing again to the soundtrack of a language
I don't understand.