The Light, The Match, The Spark

Recently I unearthed a huge plastic bin filled with a treasure trove of words. Many of them were written in the early seventies through the late eighties. Below is a poem I found that was written in the 80's when I worked near 53rd & 3rd in NYC. That particular block was noted as a place where men met other men, and memorialized in a Ramones song.



Oftentimes, I would meet my cousin or friend for lunch at a local park. Sitting on a bench while waiting, I would often see "the dance" and I guess I wrote a poem about it. It could use some editing, but I wanted to post it as it was originally written. Glancing quickly through other sheets of songs and poems I re-discovered, it seems a lot of my writings during that period were quite dark...

The Light, The Match, The Spark

The queerboy struts the walk
so pink and white and clean
He moves oh so graceful
with the dandelions swaying in the green
The three piece suit sitting on a bench
glances through the latest mystery
His manicure lowers the book
over the top he watches him through the tree
Radar makes the queerboy stop
lean and light up a cigarette
The game is on, the book drops down
it's time that they met
The light, the match, the spark
has nothing to do with the heart
The light, the match, the spark
gotta release all of his hard
Circle Line cruises the river
so long and hard and steady
With a twinkle he flicks his butt
I think now he's ready
The three piece suit loosens his tie
stretches with his arms open wide
The queerboy smiles, walks to the bench
and whispers, "Why don't we go inside?"
The brown bag lunch is dropped in the can
they stroll towards the deep, dark escape
The three piece suit never saw
the shiny steel go through his nape