No Room for Tears Here

Oxford Street, 1991

Until then we were immortal --

we drove up over the Parkway

the lights of his city blurred.

He had been younger than me. 

*

They hold each other

and kiss, reciting

their front-door litany --

“Last chance before we come back,

they don’t like poofters out there.”

*

I asked

Where’s your partner tonight?

he said

He’s dead

*

They wheeled him in

next to our hairless

muscled legs.

There we were, pumped up

all sass

in our boots and leather:

he was dying.

Next time I looked

a man with golden fans

was brushing life

into those emaciated hands.