I Knew for Three Decades

 

 

First only one shiny gray pube,

a lovely secret

 

I waited five years to tell you.

 

You smiled.

 

I thought you'd hate aging.

 

I was wrong.

 

You look good

and play for keeps.

 

 

          Fore-say

 

Thank you, creator,

for breasts and chests,

for slits galore and slippery places,

for nerves in all touch.

For the first person to kiss us with mouth open,

for the first to nod or pant....

 

Give us Your imagination.

 

 

 

 

I hate to disturb you...

 

but you've missed a half moon and a star at the very tip.

If you happen to hear this message or wake up,

look out the back window of the study.

 

Squeeze yourself for me.

 

 

First you let the ooze drip

 

 

First you let the ooze drip

into gauze you placed below it

on my left leg.

 

Then you read Wikipedia

and strapped the pad over the drip

packed to stay there

behind a surgical sock.

 

I'd rather be kissing you.

 

I'll wait. 

 

Old men wait as often and as long

as we did when we were boys

and grown men moved in front

of us to the barber's chair —

 

as if what they had to do

was more important,

 

as if bagging lymphedema

is more important than kissing.

 

It's not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Louie Clay (né Louie Crew), an Alabama native, is an emeritus professor at Rutgers. He is 77 and lives in East Orange, NJ, with Ernest Clay, his husband of 40 years.   

   

As of today, editors have published 2,370 of Clay's poems and essays.   

   

Clay has edited special issues of College English and Margins. He has written four poetry volumesSunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976), Midnight Lessons (Samisdat, 1987), Lutibelle's Pew (Dragon Disks, 1990), and Queers! for Christ's Sake! (Dragon Disks, 2003).    

   

See also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louie_Crew.   The University of Michigan collects Clay's papers.  Reach him by email at louie.clay@comcast.net