No Room for Tears Here
By Anna Kerdijk Nicholson
Oxford Street, 1991
Until then we were immortal --
we drove up over the Parkway
the lights of his city blurred.
He had been younger than me.
*
They hold each other
and kiss, reciting
their front-door litany --
“Last chance before we come back,
they don’t like poofters out there.”
*
I asked
Where’s your partner tonight?
he said
He’s dead
*
They wheeled him in
next to our hairless
muscled legs.
There we were, pumped up
all sass
in our boots and leather:
he was dying.
Next time I looked
a man with golden fans
was brushing life
into those emaciated hands.