Some gay men, years before they were able to be openly gay, would tell people they were going fishing. Well, that was true except they would be fishing for other gay men, not fish!
Oh, well, I guess that’s as good an excuse as any for chancing our luck at this known cruising ground or that.
Pity about having to lie, but...
Ah, the thrill of a catch!!! [I remember it well.]
GONE FISHING
There was a fishing hole
down our way;
I used to go there every day;
didn’t fish for perch,
or go for trout, didn’t need
a rod or use bait;
reeling in delicious dreams,
one, two three …
He was tall, slim and dark
(smiling, carefree);
game for a lark within
a friendly willow tree
conspiring with summer
to draw us close
and closer still, till we dared
kiss under leafy skies
No more lies
Copyright R. N. Taber 2002; 2011
[Note: This poem has been recently revised from the original that appears in 1st eds. of First Person Plural by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation.]
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