I'd seen her in the pub from time to time -
shortish height, slightly awkward jerky movements
not quite to be called boyish
like her haircut,
indeterminate of age -
a worn sixteen; an undeveloped twenty-six?
but in a year or two, she seemed the latter
though her vulnerable, aggressive stance
made age irrelevant.
had she been more confident, more inyerface
she'd have been lesbait, no doubt of that; I felt
uncomfortable around her, as you do, however kind,
around those who have not yet resolved their life.
but she didn't pose her boyishness; wore
her trousers without pride; didn't
give off that lesbian vibe.
she might almost have been
the girl in the girls' school play who was as tomboy
told to play the boy and
who wore the clothes
and hated it.
then she started coming in with her quiet,
steady boyfriend; sometimes with their dog; she seemed more relaxed.
I gave her no more thought;
was faintly happy for her, I found.
so there I was one day, pissing off twice the amount
of beer I'd drunk - strange, isn't it? - in the Gents;
the door opens, in she walks, stands two urinals away
and does her thing - I guessed... well, no,
I didn't take a closer look - for she was
challenging me to respond.
And I didn't have a response.
I'd never seen her
doing that before; maybe my age suited her for a role
in some sad psychodrama of her unhappy life,
I, cast, perhaps, as proxy father, uncle, teacher, godknowswhat..
I didn't respond; nor did sex
raise its tumescent head; in fact I'd say, rather the reverse.
Of course she couldn't have known
that English boarding school,
ages seven to twenty-one (for the really thick and desperate) ,
equips you with a knowledge of acquired hermaphroditism
of an innocent yet knowing kind - beyond, I'd guess,
the experience of many a born hermaphrodite...
to please your hero man
at any price
in any vice;
we called them 'fags'; it's the official term, and
snigger-free;
then later, play the macho game
of picking the most beautiful new boy
to be your 'fag'; flirt publicly,
...to show that it's not serious or queer...
and if you take it further, well, that's your concern,
just don't get found out;
or if you want to really win repute,
date the housemaid simultaneously...
I let her leave that restless restroom first,
it seemed fitting, in my determined, neutral state;
yet it left a sense of many serious matters of the human heart
unexplored; unresolved.
I found this a strong narrative poem, Michael, the first 1/3 or 1/2 really drew me in. I got a little confused in the middle, not knowing enough about English boarding-school life. By 'acquired hermaphroditism' (a wry term?) do you mean 'bi-sexuality'? And was this person you write about a true, physical hermaphrodite? Your ending is haunting. It deserves more than a '2'! I'll look back at the Forum, if I've time, to see how they encouraged you. I musta been workin that day.
Thanks, Forum Boyz, for the encouragement to write this. Transgender - like penalty kicks in soccer - is a threat to our most precious 'possessions'... it calls out our humanity in an uncomfortable way!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dammit Max, there's a limit to my curiosity - 'excuse me, er, Ms, are you a hermaphrodite, a bisexual, a transexual, or just a transvestite on a night out -my friend Max downstairs wants to know? '