Queer as Folk

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

There was a time when bullies scared me. Thankfully, I discovered that most bullies, especially the homophobic ones, are even  more scared of themselves than I was...

When I was a young man, 'queer' was a term of abuse that the bigots among us would throw at gay men. While I remain uncomfortable with the word, it is good to see how it has been reclaimed by the gay community and reinvented itself for the better.

The poem tells a true story.

QUEER AS FOLK

He was a bully

and I was the coward

too scared to ever
stand up to him though 

he’d call me names,

say all queers should be

shot for the social

vermin they are, to hell
with equality

He led a local gang

that drained every nasty

word he said, awful

things he did, like booze
to an alkie...

He was their god

in whose mind’s sewers

they would freely dive,

invariably come up smelling
of show roses

One day, I turned

a bend, saw him coming

my way on his own,

dived into an alley

and just kept running...

It was a dead end!

He had me cornered,
no point yelling for cavalry
or expecting mercy

He was less sure

of himself on his own,

brow (rid of horns)

starting to sweat,

no one egging him on;

I’ll never know why

but I hit out with my fist,

missed, froze, was aghast, 

fearing the worst

He lunged at me

and we fell to the ground,

his breath on my face

challenging my lips

to let rip with a sound;

I lay still, eyes shut,

way past caring, passively

waiting for the beating

I’d long been expecting

to start...

No blows rained

where I lay in naked terror,

only a kiss on my mouth,

more reassuring even

than a hot shower;

my eyes flew open

and a face homing nervously

in on mine belonged

to someone else, far more
scared than me

Did I have a choice?

No, I struggled to reason,

pinioned to the ground

and dare not resist

this mad, appalling passion;

how could it be true,

these bodies, this rhythm ours,

a growing sureness

and frantic heat, ramming
heaven’s towers?

Spent, we lay,

unable to find a single word

to explain, knowing

anyone might

come by, but no one did;

once on our feet,

he blurted out an apology,

exposing how scared

we’d both been of a restless,
dormant sexuality

He kept his word

and I never knew what lies

he told his cronies, only

that love and hate

went their separate ways;

we never understood

how we felt about each other,

nor were we ever friends,

me and the bully who became
my closet lover

  

[From: On the Battlefields of Love by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2010]