My lover's buns are nothing like a
Plate glass is far more rippled than his chest.
His six-inch fuse becomes his only rod.
With no cologne but rankest funk he's blessed.
I have seen glistening men, hirsute or
but no alluring luster's in his face.
And I've known even yokels less uncouth
clutching their men in graceless long embrace.
I like to hear my lover's tuneful shower,
but any glories there are merely myths,
for though his songs indeed my spunk empower,
the truth is that he all too often lithps.
And yet I swear my man's to me more real
than hunky clones who, unrehearsed, can't feel.
Louie Crew, 72, an
Alabama native, is an emeritus professor at
Rutgers. He lives in East Orange, NJ, with Ernest
Clay, his husband of 35+ years.
As of today, editors have
published 1,952 of Crew's poems and essays. Crew
has edited special issues of College English and
Margins. He has written four poetry volumes
Sunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976) Midnight
Lessons (Samisdat, 1987), Lutibelle's Pew (Dragon
Disks, 1990), and Queers! for Christ's Sake! (Dragon