the Realities Concerning Love

The maddening thing about democracy
is that it makes a rough life for the weird and the weak.
The crowd's ideals and goals are easy:
you don't have to think and you don't have to speak.
A traditional love affair starts with a kiss on the cheek.
Your eyes filled with tears with every concession you made;
life was so miserable before you were gay.

A home can be more than a place
to take off the shoes and rest tired old feet.
A double bed shouldn't be crowded by
two unhappy people in a dusty basement suite.
Days shouldn't be spent walking
confused squares and circles on downtown streets.
You used to feel like you were trapped in a bank robber's safe;
the sun never shone before you were gay.

Poets were the worst liars. Their illusion of
true love didn’t turn out so fucking grand.
Nothing would have worked, a marriage
or a string of drunken one night stands:
they all just clumsily pawed at your clothes,
your body with sandpaper hands.
You’d say yes to any boy that asked for a date;
love was so peculiar before you were gay.