HOLIDAY AT THE BATHS
Here I am again
In my private cabin, with walls painted
Flat black. The same sperm rivulets
From the 70's have been preserved
On these walls
For authenticity's sake, I'm sure.
I'm laying here with the light dimmed,
Watching all kinds of men walk past my room,
Pretending to go to some other doorway
In the dead-end hallway
Then walking past again, headed back the way
They came. Human ricochets of
Sexual compulsion or just
Normal human behavior? Sometimes
It's difficult to tell them apart.
I'm on my back here, legs propped up, reading--
Strangely disinterested, yet aware
Of all the salacious content
Just beyond my door.
This is the place
Everyone comes to sooner or later.
It's just that gay men get here
Faster.
A perky twenty-something peers into my room
Then leaves.
I'd looked up briefly, but kind of ignored him
Because I don't like 'em wafer-thin.
He then returns.
A longer peer at my body in repose
Ensues.
"Man," he says goofily, "That's a big butt."
He says it as though
I should be surprised--
As though all along, I'd thought I had
George Clooney's skinny ass
Stapled to my thighs.
"I'd sure like to fuck it," he says,
Half-laughing.
"I've got a better idea," I say with a smirk,
Trying to sound butch,
"Why don't you
He turns and leaves,
Inexplicably.
One guy at the baths who'd seen me give
Another rude faggot similar treatment
Once asked me,
"You didn't grow up as a fat kid,
Didja?"
No, I'd said.
I was skinny and pasty most of my life.
Until I was 25,
My two best dyke friends
Used to try to feed me mashed potatoes,
Mayonnaise cakes made in Crock Pots,
And whole milk, compulsively.
Yes, I used to see my ribs. And
Yes, I used to feel as though I had no body
From the neck on down--as though
My head bobbed on sticks like some
Human marionette.
Five years and 40 pounds later,
I feel better about myself,
But I find I'm at odds with the current
Body culture. With the artifice grown
In the West Hollywoods and Chelseas of the world.
And so, here in this private black cabin,
I'm reminded once again
That I can be alone
Among my so-called people. This is
Not a negative pronouncement, just a truth.
And I continue reading
Until someone human
Eventually stops by.
© Alan Reade, 2011
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