The Dance

I went to my first Queer dance.
The butches on the left,
The fags on the right,
The leathers in the corner.

My boyfriend (now ex) was licking
The earlobe of some guy.
The saliva that he and I shared was
Now dripping off the end of his orifice.
I looked again and he told me to Fuck Off
And I ran away as the old homos giggled.
He's not sleeping with me tonight
I thought as I gave him the finger.

I went home and read some Evelyn Waugh;
It excited me; It enraged me; It made me cry.
I looked over at the pictures of us embracing
Each other as well as the polaroids,
that I hope my parents never find.
I threw them in a drawer and pulled out a
Skin mag and studied it like a K-Mart flyer:
Its merchandise cheap and poorly assembled.
I am now sole and refuse to dance again.
I realize that gay love is volatile;
For there is no great dark man and if there is,
He probably won't dance with me.