Outside the door they stand
waiting.
They shuffle, sullen and
embarrassed, against the dirty wall
to let me pass.
I want to wink at them, those
lovely rogues, that shift outside his stupid door, closed
against their need.
I look away, encounter shoes,
scuffed and fretting,
tracing lives upon the tattered
cord and rubbing idle hate
upon the skirting, chipped and
sorry.
Bright keys of manhood, proving
nothing,
swing and ring upon the ragged
belt loops,
sway about their swelling thighs
in skin-tight, tired school
trousers.
A smell of sweat and bitterness is
weighted in the air.
It hurts me.
There outside his stern-shut door,
I mutter, too.
I think I’m going to scream. I scream.
It’s wonderful.
I put my mouth to his idiot
keyhole
and yell obscenities,
streams of four-letter words he’s
never heard,
like love and life, and hope and
help, and care and come...
And deep within, the raging
footsteps smash across the room;
the wrenched door smacks and howls
against a wall of silence,
explodes upon tomorrow’s waiting
eyes...
“Who was it? I’ll get the...”
“Me,” I quiet say, and enter in.
The cane is friendly, warm;
it whistles as it flies upon him,
with amazing numbers of the very
best,
and sets the record straight
for all those rogues outside his
smart shut door
that careless carry
little sins of pressing youth, the
dancing earrings, purple socks,
forgotten forms, and brave smokes
in the burning, choking sun;
the biking in the playground after
lunch;
and calling him - and life - a
taut four-letter word...
Puzzled they let me pass;
they stand around and wait, lost
in this corridor to nowhere;
and gently turn their heads upon a
faceless door, shut
upon a man sobbing.
I have had enough now.
I have opened my window.
(1986)
