Steve helped.
He was older and gay.
Beforehand I had my mum.
I didn’t realize Steve fancied me,
but liked his attention
which let me sit in bars accompanied.

Steve suggested
we went to Rocky’s:
a gay joint out of town.
You could be yourself there.

We had dull university jobs.
At Rocky’s I was introduced
to a camp colleague of Steve’s.

There was a single dancer in a bat-like coat.
I watched him spin mesmerisingly
and wanted to be him.

Steve beckoned me downstairs.
The vastness smelled of poppers.
Mustaches where pandemic; tight jeans,
black leather caps, waistcoats
with chains complemented,
in a packed sheep pen,
herded.

Drunk, I went home feeling alive.
The cabby asked me if I was gay.
I denied.

As I got older the depression passed.
Rocky’s, Steve and drinking
vanished; in that order.

7/9/12