New Year' Eve (2018)

A multi-murder of Crows
with a’fluttering wings
and flapping beaks,
in a dichotomy of whispers
and obstreperous cawing,
both pay me no heed and
annoying me with cavalier
condescension,
as they seem to multiply
exponentially,
like a surreal memorial to
Alfred Hitchcock.

This balmy last day of 2018
with its ebony-speckled sky,
as if this last day is the
“end-of-days.”

As I shout from my balcony,
to this base-natural group;
“It’s New Year’s Eve, you birds,
what have you resolved?”

I’m ignored.

©TP/12/31/18

War and Peace

I was born during one war.
I came of age serving in another.
In between and for years after
I was at war with myself.

A mental insidious gnawing constantly
that I was QUEER.

A comedian once quipped:
“He was so far in the closet,
he was behind the Christmas presents.”

That was me.

Always in shadows, in dark corridors of
bath-houses, behind Glory-hole walls,
blow jobs in balconies.

I was always alone, lonely and afraid.


At age 62 I retired and shed my Madison Avenue
suit and tie and false pretenses and remarks about
my not being married.

I CAME-OUT.

No, it wasn’t that simple, it took me several years
to convince myself and confide in others of my
true self.

John Lennon wrote and sang:
“The war is over, if you want it, give peace a chance.”

My personal war is over.
I am at peace with myself.

©TPuma/MMXVIII


END