Graeme II: a poëm

 

My poëms tend to be my least-read blog-posts; nevertheless poëtry is important to me. As I promised here is part two of the trilogy about my encounter and non-affinity with a chap named Graeme back in the 1990s in a large pub in Didsbury.

The other guy referenced - poor lad! - is called Nick, about whom I also wrote a few poëms. Perhaps I might one day publish one or two of those…

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Graeme II

God

I felt so horny

in the taxi

I could hardly wait

for the journey

to end.

Does he fancy,

does he want to sleep with

to have sex with

me?

Dropped off at the rendezvous

I scoured the imbibing revellers

enjoying desperately

the last of Summer’s warm evenings.

Deflated at not seeing him

contemplating a rejection

stood up again.

I turned from the crowd

stepped into the bar

and as I did so

he

was there

behind me

tapping my shoulder

beaming broadly,

“What would you like to…”

“Buy you a drink…”

We laughed together

simultaneously

I asserted the primacy

of my offer;

he demurred

though parried

with a request for a Czech beer

or was it Slovakian

at any rate

unpronounceable

to the uninitiated.

He excused himself

itching desperation

the sponge needed squeezing.

For some moments

I was left to fend for myself

and then

I spotted you there

or maybe not

I convinced myself

an hallucination

merely a fantasy

and I dismissed you from my mind.

Relief

he returned

suggested

we sit outside

with the bright young things.

Surprisingly

there was an empty

trestle just for two;

Fate was looking kindly

upon him and me

or so I thought.

We had chatted

for some time

trying to find

that common-ground

the foundation

to any new affinity,

when perchance

I glanced

up at you

about to descend

from the bar

like some angel

on Jacob’s ladder,

in a plain, white T-shirt

white jeans

and those sapphirine orbs

coruscating,

standing erect

so tall

much more than I recall.

Distracted totally

by your presence.

I noted your male companion

lover or simple friend

either way

I envied his position

for you sat

straddling the bench

perpendicular to his side -

were you declaring

ownership?

Jealousy stabbed

and twisted

in my heart,

I actually felt

physical pain

(like fear or excitement

in one’s stomach).

I tried

to turn my attention

back to him,

and for a while

it worked,

until

my poriferan organ

required emptying.

As I walked down

to the convenience

in the basement

you appeared

at the bottom,

you looked up

we caught one another’s gaze;

I continued

my descent

and you took the stairs

three at a time;

I turned my head

to watch your strong thighs

your calves and agile feet

the gently curving

muscular

twinned arcs

either side of your spine,

like angelic wings,

and from such an angle

your comely

shapely

behind;

I observed you

almost to the top

of the stairwell

then averted my eyes,

for the same reason

why I did not

call out your name,

at least not aloud,

for my ridiculous sense of decorum

just would not allow it,

too phlegmatic

for my own good.

On returning

I had lost

the desire

and the lust

for him.

My unrequited passion

for you

rekindled

irritatingly

and inconveniently.

I almost feel certain

that you and I…

…oh I don’t know

what does one call it

two strangers

who seemed to know one another

somehow felt comfortable

together,

is that love

or simply

the effect

of some designer-drug?

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Yesterday was this blog’s twelfth anniversary. I am not well enough to carry out a blog analysis of the past twelve years. However, at just shy of 840K blog-views, some folk must have found my witterings of some interest.

Thanks to all readers, I really do appreciate your stopping by.

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