by Christopher Luke

Created on: November 05, 2010

DISTANT VOICES

I sit, as a fly, upon the wall

Listening to my folks quarrel in the Drawing Room

Over the boy in my life.

When will they see

It was neither the fault of either of them

Nor the schools they sent me to which made me what I am,

Nor the company I kept or the restrictions they placed upon me when I was  younger,

But rather I chose – if indeed I did choose, for most of the time I believe I was born – what I am,

That which they both, in their own respective ways,

Find difficult to accept.

           

And yet what is so awful about me

That causes my folks to quarrel

Always behind me, never beside or in front of me?

Is it really so awful that they cannot air their differences when I am there,

Or talk with me, rather than lecture me, about what my paternal grandmother calls a “temporary medical condition”

Rather than misdiagnose me in my absence

And prescribe therapy for it which I do not want and will not take?

           

Amidst all the heated exchanges

Between Mother and Father in the room next door,

I manage to remain calm and not say a word

Until Father mentions the name of the one I love

Which causes m blood pressure to soar to reach the Heavens above,

As I loudly bang on the Drawing Room door

And shout “SHUT-UP YOU STUPID BASTARDS … AND DON’T BRING PHILIPPE’S NAME INTO THIS ANYMORE”!

He has nothing to do with who, or what, I am;

I was gay long before I met him

So don’t go accusing him of “indoctrinating” or “infecting” me!

“Indoctrinate” me indeed; anyone would think it was something like one’s times-tables that one could be taught!

“Infect” me indeed; anyone would think, as they did in times past, that I have a disease!

Why can’t they just appreciate me for who I am

And that being gay is no more abnormal or, to coin a phrase, “queer”,

Than having two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth and a brain?

Oh do stop going on about it Father,

You sound like a cracked record stuck in its groove again!

I am what I am and I ain’t changing for anyone!

Celebrate me for what I am not what you want me to be!

It’s not that I don’t give a damn about the family name and reputation,

At least thanks to Clifford you still have one son

Who will bequeath name and your vile heterosexual traditions to the next generation!

Just leave me alone; I’ve no intention of attempting to turn straight,

I bolted from my stable – or should I say closest – at birth

And if you are still trying to catch me dear Mother and Father,

It really is no use, as you’re already some twenty-four years and three months too late!

So quit all the small talk that I will soon get over it and/or start to breed,

I’ve no intention of changing: not one iota indeed!

Quit cursing Father and stop crying Mother,

If you want a strong heterosexual son, there’s always my brother!

And for goodness sake both of you, leave Philippe out of this I pray,

As this is the last time I’m telling you both,

I’m happy the way I am

And it’s not Philippe’s fault I AM GAY!

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