I remember those trips to Sydney in the 1980s’
walking the streets while you worked-at-office:
haunting bookshops and Red Eye Records and
the sex-shops, HIV-Aids and black men on my
mind, occasionally giving in to the urge & head-
for a gay video lounge, circling the block
for ages, an hour at least- Should I! or should
I not? or should I ? often not, sometimes yes-
up lean, rickety stairs, paying my dollars, plung-
ing into darkness, metal door clanging shut, breath-
less and scared, until my eyes became
accustomed to the unlit lounge & I perceived men;
some sitting patiently with coats folded on their laps,
some half-naked & masturbating to the screens, or
pairing off. I was an unconscious prickteaser until
a nice man showed me “the do’s & the don’t’s”.
I am sorry now for the men I unhappily led on &
let down, can you forgive me? can I forgive myself?
I was young & too frightened of dying of Aids.
I did not know if I was Arthur or Martha- so,
a quick suck or fuck, button up and down &
out & back to Red Eye Records to purchase some-
thing, then meet you at the Castlereagh Masonic Inn-
look, a Sex Pistols record! a Clash! and never once
mentioning my thrills & spills. Why? Silence kills!