Dad was a lush and Mom was a slattern.
The hitting and kissing established a pattern.
First came the rabbi, naked on a roof.
His aloofness was a front. His smacks were playful.
Then came Rick, sexy Little Caesar.
But his moods were awful.
He kicked and ran out.
While majoring in the arts
I started breaking hearts.
Then nameless he-men paid by the hour.
I was outraged and entranced by power.
Brief reprieve: in love with Steve.
But he never loved me back. Alack.
In time I met my Waterloo,
Frenchman Paul who liked girls too.
I stalked him once in a Gatsby hat
and caught him with Claire at the laundromat.
Then came John and our breathtaking fights!
And the thrill of all those slamming doors!
And Mark on his trembling townhouse veranda.
When he weighted me down and pressed me,
he depressed me.
It was hard to admit the hate that was in me.
And then I met you, a man of love,
loyal as a server room kept cold in La Jolla.
First crystallization the moment I saw you.
Second crystallization in a graveyard brawl,
two days crying and dancing in Montreal.
All those ready-made expressions:
- Our eyes met.
- The rood caved in.
- I’ve had it.
- I’m in it.
- I’ll navigate you.
- No yes, you’re right.
- No yes, no no.
It’s simple, Michael.
We broke the cycle.
