This is Just to Say

Reading in French

Mispronouncing the words.

Never write a poem that rhymes

Eliot, in bed?

Eliot, not quite homosexual poet,

Loves the fair, carnies and circus folk.

Never stay in the room alone with him:

Allen Ginsberg

The snide remarks and half chuckles

About the pope’s penis.

Eliot, in bed…

Hair, half messed

Bald spot growing ravenously,

Loudly pink shirt with

Work boots.

Masculine counteracted.

Rebalanced with the stubble

Of a chin.

His notebook of images

Lain bedside astray.

A record of the way I felt

When he caught my eye,

And looked away.