An Orientation Outfit/Lessons On Being Gay From Santa Claus Or Another Figment of Your Imagination

His pink shirt wont hide his mother’s disappointment,
nor the leaking pornography that leaves a sweaty scent,
on keyboard keys, tapped and fapped,
nor on yellowed sheets embarrassed, stained and marked.

His smart shoes wont hide his father’s disgrace,
nor the love for that actor, y’know in that film, the one with distinguished face?
The posters that are pinned displaying torso and abs
are his holy land, promise land, cathedral and call of distress.

His pressed trousers can’t hide his sister’s embarrassment
as she’s left home to start again.
Now he’s in the square against the tanks,
two feet firm ahead of the marching ranks.

And remember that you can still buy my book on Amazon, here: and New York: The Chasm Between Experience and Cold Feet