When does it start?
Then, like always,
It was toilets.
I glanced down,
He did too.
Eyes meet; a grim, resigned, relieved smile.
Extend the moment. Wash hands.
Together, with a tsunami of silence,
We climb the steps (please don’t leave me);
Reach the top (SAY SOMETHING!);
“Want to walk?” (Thank you, God!)
With names we capture each other.
We speak of the weather, the church, the situation, the guilt.
Then a quiet explosive,
“I can’t help it. I know I’m homosexual”.
‘Let there be light’
‘I have a dream’
‘No man is an island’
Verbal history is created.
Mine, now also visual, branded on my sleeve, without escape, and unremoveable.
History has begun.
Roger Newman, Margate