Saturday Afternoon
Posted: 28 Apr 2024, 19:07
Saturday Afternoon
“Is that the Empire State Building you’ve got in your pants?”
Well, I thought it was funny, and this was Greenwich Village,
so there was at least a fifty percent chance he would laugh
and, hopefully, stop to exchange numbers. But no —
I wasn’t showing a big enough building of my own
to give him the long ride he sought, so he kept going.
I watched his muscular buttocks bounce as he strode away.
This was at least better than the man who shouted out
his phone number to every rippling hunk who crossed his path.
Desperation started for me at an early age, fueled
by an angry/distant father who had no use for children.
(Why are fathers always angry and distant at the same time?)
“Love” was something a man did to his wife in the bedroom,
not to be shared with needy kids. I’m not saying that
my father made me gay — my five straight brothers were not
loved by him either — but for some reason I took his loathsome
indifference more to heart. To this day a man’s arousal
is a powerful symbol of acceptance to me, and if
he lets me touch it, that’s love; but how did those things conflate?
Enough introspection for one day! A handsome honey
is coming to my house; someone else will figure this out.
☙
Once before when I posted a gay poem, I commented that I wasn't sure a forum of straight guys would either like it or appreciate it. I still feel that way, but this happens to be my latest effort. Either I post this or an older poem.
I never intended to write so many poems on gay themes, but they seem to come to me naturally.
“Is that the Empire State Building you’ve got in your pants?”
Well, I thought it was funny, and this was Greenwich Village,
so there was at least a fifty percent chance he would laugh
and, hopefully, stop to exchange numbers. But no —
I wasn’t showing a big enough building of my own
to give him the long ride he sought, so he kept going.
I watched his muscular buttocks bounce as he strode away.
This was at least better than the man who shouted out
his phone number to every rippling hunk who crossed his path.
Desperation started for me at an early age, fueled
by an angry/distant father who had no use for children.
(Why are fathers always angry and distant at the same time?)
“Love” was something a man did to his wife in the bedroom,
not to be shared with needy kids. I’m not saying that
my father made me gay — my five straight brothers were not
loved by him either — but for some reason I took his loathsome
indifference more to heart. To this day a man’s arousal
is a powerful symbol of acceptance to me, and if
he lets me touch it, that’s love; but how did those things conflate?
Enough introspection for one day! A handsome honey
is coming to my house; someone else will figure this out.
☙
Once before when I posted a gay poem, I commented that I wasn't sure a forum of straight guys would either like it or appreciate it. I still feel that way, but this happens to be my latest effort. Either I post this or an older poem.
I never intended to write so many poems on gay themes, but they seem to come to me naturally.