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.

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