Translation from the Gay
Alexander Best
It was a typical afternoon. I entered the airy thickets
of staghorn sumach in the ravine dividing quiet neighbourhood from roaring
riverside highway.
I said hello (touched the crotch) of any number of men wary
or shy, and some of us became instant friends (they touched mine).
We played
with ideas (fondled one another’s rumps); conversed more widely (placed lips
on different limbs); added the occasional comma (tugged an earlobe using teeth);
italicized the odd phrase (licked up spines, from coccyx to nape of neck).
Sometimes
we were of one mind and could complete each other’s sentences (doggy-style’d
with heads close and mouths grazing).
Once in a while I told the truth (took
all my clothes off, in broad daylight) while others lied (wore dark sunglasses)
even as they boldly looked upon me with blacked-out eyes. Sometimes it was
me was the liar (nude, I fancied myself free and natural) while my heart was
honest (it pumped at great speed—for bashers drew near).
Rarely, we sang a
song.* More often, I sang solo* while mute men watched, all ears.
*Note: Some folkways are ineffable; plain English will have to do.
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