Richard Atwood
freak show
the anguish of the boy with
no face cannot be measured
nor even thought about
if you look at him and he looks back
and you recoil and his eyes bulge
or the ears flop lopsidedly
do we count all the fingers and toes
of our own suddenly and rush off
saying thank you, God, it wasn’t me
but what about him when you turn
your own child away, pick him up
from the playground, will not allow
this thing to invade his space
your space the boy
with no face to speak of
whose nose is a wide broken bridge
and the cheeks collapsed like
saucers if he smiles or speaks,
will the lips really move
stitched that way into an incomplete skin
and the bones that fell in
underneath…
makes you ask: God, why—
or do you curse, excuse yourself
… ignore and run?
Who's “Queer” Now?
Been on this website over
three years—amazing
the incredible good looks,
magnificent muscle
huge cocks (or only so-so),
well able to match some,
exceed, or be far less—
talents and business acumen
I may never live up to,
nor their penchant for sports
—which I basically loathe
(as much as I do cellphonies,
rap, screaming divas and noise;
“Who’s next?”
or “Partnered—Open All”).
Therefore, I’m accepted…
welcome as a leper (in str8 society
or church) much as I am here.
Strange, being same gender inclined
but not “gay,” part of the circus:
nor immoral-normal as most.
As if there were no such thing
as an “honorable” man into men
on the planet, for even a friend…
Christian, creative, muscular, mature:
matching build, endowments, interests;
(much less or more). Quiet, calm,
steady. Under/over 60; but poor.
Me, the queer one—especially
among my own kind.
Far Away, and Very Near
Will the child in me
stop wobbling
the adult stand tall
or the teen whistle
mindlessly ever
between the brakes
and the fender
and the seat cushion,
under the polish and
the wax
parked in the moonlight
by the shore,
the ocean-lake calm
as a tsunami in the soul
remembering in older times
the dreams youth had
and lost now
more silent than a faint
light cool quiet through
the pines fragrances maybe
of salt or wine… the drift
of a first new snow.
The Most Incredible Thing
The most incredible thing
he could not accept
was
that if he had the honesty
to proclaim himself
and rejected the falseness
of what he was not
even to his friends,
the world around him—
that still
to be a homosexual
was not to insure
he would ever be loved
nor ever end
with more than the last encounter.
