Saturday Afternoon (version 2)

[CalebPerry]

Saturday Afternoon (version 2)

“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 burly man 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 damned
indifference more to my 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.

===============

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 didn’t have a big building of my own to give him the long
elevator ride he wanted, so he kept going. I watched
his muscular buttocks bouncing as he strode away.

This was at least better than the man known to shout out
his phone number to every handsome man 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 gave to his wife in the bedroom,
not to be shared with needy children. 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 think I took
the 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, well then, the King has bestowed a priceless gift.
Enough introspection for today. A young honey
is coming over tonight, and I think I have a chance. ...

☙

I hope this poem doesn't offend the raging heterosexuals here.

Originally, the first stanza was the entire poem, and I still may drop the rest of it.

[jisbell00]

Hi Caleb,

I think you want to have shouted at the start of S2?

I think this is very interesting introspection, but it spends some time not being a poem as I undertstand them. It's more like a chat at that point. If you want to try trimming, I think it might pop more? Experiments can be revelatory!

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

I must be tired. I don't really understand what you are saying. I'll come back later.

Yes, it's a poem. A poem is whatever an author says it is.

[jisbell00]

I like the title btw.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

Everyone's favorite poem has just been revised!

[jisbell00]

Hi Caleb,

I like the update.

Cheers,
John

[CalebPerry]

Thank you, John!