Poem: "William B. Youngblood Looks at a Filipino Go-Go"


William B. Youngblood Looks at a Filipino Go-Go

Everything I gave was to get rid of you
As one gives to the beggar. There. Go away.
—Margaret Atwood, “Cressida to Troilus:  A Gift”


His body swaying to music throws a glance
at me and, in turns, others through the cage.
I do not know the dancer or the dance

but attend every Friday on the chance
he’d sway and ache for me despite my age,
he’d grant, for pity’s sake, more than a glance.

He pauses, for a heartbeat, when I enhance
the bulge of his silk crotch with his paper wage.
O, I know what the dancer wants from his dance.

What do I want? The pectoral advance?
A wifely kiss? To fill the butt’s cleavage
with my old body? Night extends the glance

into a corridor entered in a trance,
to a dark room behind the strobe lit stage,
where we may know the dancer, not the dance.

I throw my jacket over all my wants,
domestic, holy, beggaring, savage,
and turn to leave, with a backward glance,
the dancers who are dancers when they dance.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Goh Chok Tong's Visit to FCBC

Wallace Stevens' "The Noble Rider and the Sound of Words"

Steven Cantor's "What Remains: the Life and Work of Sally Mann"