Leftover Laurels of a Screaming Queen

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

I once had a friend who loved to live (or camp) up to his reputation for being something of s screaming queen. He died some years ago but I often think of him with great affection. He pops up in my memory all the time, rather like a much treasured jack-in-the-box. I knew him very well, and in reality he was no stereotypical screaming queen, as few are. He was older than me, and had grown up, as I did, at a time when gay people were considered the lowest of the low if not sick. His outward behavior was a form of defence mechanism, as if defying the bigots in society to put him down if they dare. Inwardly, he was a kind, caring loving person whom it was a delight to know, especilly once our friendship had embraced his (very)camp alter ego.

Now, I have heard it said, and feel inclined to agree, that old queens never die, but simply fade away…

LEFTOVER LAURELS OF A SCREAMING QUEEN

It’s good to be gay,

even as I grow older

(if less happy)

each time I look in the mirror

at a stranger

It’s good to be gay

enjoy outrageous chat

with a young man

as pretty as his pink tee shirt,

(Logo: ‘Keep Out’)

It’s good to be gay

flirt with lips and hand

as if I stood a chance

of taking even a one night stand

back to Neverland

It’s good to be gay,

fly high on tatty wings

from tarty days

of cruising cabbages and kings

though smoke rings

It’s good to be gay

free of the hassle

of attempting

to reward sex sufficient muscle

to fulfil its potential

It’s good to be gay,

even as I grow older,

younger at heart

each time I preen in my mirror

for a stranger

Copyright R. N. Taber 2013