Very few
of my gay-interest poems have been published outside my collections; this is
one that appeared in an anthology, True
Love, Anchor Books (Forward Press) 2001 and subsequently in my collection
the following year.
Ah, the
(rare) bliss of a one-night stand turning into something more ...
Some
years ago, I met a guy on the Gay Scene who was drop dead gorgeous. It turned
out he was a sailor. For all I knew, he had someone in every port. Did I care?
Well, no…and, yes, we did have protective sex. [Tip: Never have too much to
drink when there is any possibility that you might have sex. It can ruin the
sex and a condom is the last thing on anyone’s mind].
We had a
fling that lasted as long as his shore leave then he sailed away, I assumed out
of my life forever… but I saw him every shore leave for several years. Oh, how
I envied him a life at sea until he
confided how he hated the closet but it was impossible to be openly gay in Her
Majesty’s Navy without having to endure daily bullying, even violence. He
envied me for being free to sail the
sea of life without having to live a lie. (Having been forced to live that very
lie from school days to early manhood, I understood only too well what he
meant.) One day, we hugged and kissed goodbye, and I never saw him again. He disappeared
from my life as unexpectedly as he had entered it.
Even now,
years later, I answer a knock on the door and half expect to find him standing
there, arms open wide, a cheeky grin on his face and a wicked twinkle in each
grey-green eye. I do just that sometimes, but only in dreams...
SHIPMATES
It was
just a one-night stand,
I’d tell
myself;
mustn’t
let a fun time in bed
go to the
head;
get a
grip. Stiff upper lip
and all
that
Read a
book. Watch a movie.
Go for a
walk, anything...
Must stop
hovering, waiting
for the
damn phone to ring,
’cause it
won’t, yet here I am
in case
it does…
We’re but
ships in the night!
(Logo for
a tee shirt
bought in
Old Compton Street);
chin up,
chest out,
time to
get real again, strut
and fret
a Happy Hour
"Away, all
boats, away!"
Till I answered
a knock on my door,
and there
you were…
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2002, rev. 2014
[Note: For any readers unfamiliar with London UK, Old
Compton Street is in a district called Soho that has hosted some great gay bars
and cafes for many years. . An earlier version of this poem first
appeared in True Love, Anchor Books, 2001 and subsequently
in my second collection, First Person Plural by R. N. Taber,
Assembly Books, 2002.]
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