Sometimes when I catch someone's eye (or they catch mine) it feels like we are confiding an entire life history without having to say a word.
My mother once commented that a look can reveal more home truths than a bestselling biography although it would be some years before I understood what she meant.
PASSING GLANCES
Sheltered
under an awning
only
yesterday,
heard
someone muttering
‘I bet
he’s gay.’
Can’t
help but wonder why
he’s
sniffing
at my
clothes, eager to catch my eye,
turn up his
nose
Who
knows? Need to flout
a macho
pose
so no
one’s in any doubt
he ain’t
one of us?
Could it
be an inner eye
taking in
the scene,
closet
self in anxious denial, turning
shades of
green?
As for
me, I was in flames
fanned
with lies,
making
believe it was anger,
I fed his
lovely eyes
Finally,
the rain stopped,
we were
in the clear,
free to
go our separate ways,
no one
the wiser
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2004; 2011
[Note: An
earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'A Wet Day on the High Street' in 1st eds. of The Third
Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly
Books, 2004; 2nd (revised) e-edition in preparation]
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