Eshtine

poem: sebastian, or modern love

For the third time it happened.
He was a beautiful man,
And I, the fate-cursed female,
I was falling to pieces for him,
A gentleman, so loving, so kind.
My past history I had in mind,
Keeping watch for any signal,
But none came, or love was blind,
As it had been. Twice before.
Then one night at Uncle Bill's,
He said, "I have to tell you something."
I could read the future then
Like his words were Tarot cards.
I was the Hanged Man once again--
For the third time. In a row.
All my friends found the fault in me
But praised his qualities which their men lacked.
Then it came to me that I must be
A gay man trapped in a woman's body
If he was the sort I'd always attract.
I searched for solace in bodiless space,
Sought comfort in an Internet chatroom.
There I could be anything, anyone.
My thought was that in such a place
It would not matter what sex I was,
Since no one could see me anyway.
But I misjudged the human passions.
Ever came the question, "m/f?"
Finally, I took the name
"Sebastian Falconer," and thus guarded
My fearful secret of femininity.
Still it proved no help,
And when a woman hit on me
I retreated into another channel.
Here, as often happens in my life,
I found gay men gathered together,
But here, as never happened in my life,
I was accepted as one of their own.
Here I could learn to be content,
Not feminine, but effeminate.
In this guise I reemerged
Into the larger world of chat
And found a channel set aside
For gay men and lesbians both--
The perfect world of conversation.
Here I could pretend my manhood
Without the silly complication
Of women seeking my love.
Here I could gain a bond
With the men I'd always loved.
Here I conversed with Marjorie,
A lesbian with a most quick wit
And the butchest babe I knew.
She and I found each other
When the other boys and girls
Were all engaged in play
And we hung out on the sidelines.
Our conversation was a game,
Especially to me, as only I
Knew the truth about my presence there.
It added spice to how I talked,
Sometimes playing the flaming queen,
Since after all I had flawless drag.
With Marjie I was never shy,
But always coy; she took it well.
She would laugh as I would preen.
Then it was mock flirtation.
She responded. Had she guessed?
Did she see through my pretense?
And what was this I felt for her?
A feeling Biblical in metaphor:
As David had for Jonathan
A love exceeding love for women.
Soon what I for her was such
That I regretted this grand lie.
I said "I have to tell you something."
She said "And so do I."
"It's an awfully big secret,"
I hastened to say.
She only added, "So is mine."
I said, "Don't hate me for this."
She in return said, "Don't hate me."
I told her my secret, she told me hers.
We are to be wed in June--
But he'll be the bride and I'll be the groom.