“What are days for?/ Days are where we live.” –Philip Larkin
He hanged around the locker-room
of the swimming pool, to catch
an able eye and hand,
and then took the train back to his lover
who was dying of cancer.
His lover’s name was Peter Weizman.
He told me his name was Mark.
He devoted his life to fighting
for gay equality. He wrote to senators,
he called representatives, and appeared
before congressional committees.
Back home, after putting down his attaché-case,
he checked the mirror and remembered
he was ugly.
His colleague Alex thought he was beautiful,
but he never told him.
He wanted to act,
and so he took the bus to the city.
He got bit parts in bit plays,
that age would bring the right character part.
He played minor roles in life too—the one-nighter,
the Sunday fuck, the friend his friends went to
when they needed a hand.
Age brought him to a very small stage
which he dominated.