Remembering the Gay Edge — A Poem
Coming out at 19 and still around at 77!
There was a time when there was an edge to my life.
I was young, good looking, horny, gay, active.
One never knew what (read who) was waiting around the corner.
Which boy or man would be next. How would you meet?
What would you say? Where would you go? What would you do?
A glance of the eye, a rub of the crotch, a whispered request.
A posture, a pose, a connection, and or a glance.
Growing excitement showing through in a guy’s shorts.
Furtive glancing of a cashier at the grocery store.
Nodding of a passerby on the street or avenue.
Staring of a kid on the train in the seat opposite.
Beckoning from a second story window, join me!
Dancing at the disco all night until dawn.
Applying sun tan lotion at the beach, or having it applied.
Legs touching on a bus, a gentle rub, and touching again.
Accidentally brushing hand against hand in a movie theater.
An encounter in the back room of a bar with completion.
A tryst in the deserted park up the block with satisfaction.
But now that edge has dulled if not disappeared.
I am the one doing the glancing without reciprocation.
Staring. Imagining. Fantasizing. Dreaming. Remembering.
Usually with no follow up or hope expected.
What can one really anticipate at 77 years old.
Just fond memories … and grateful for those.
