The Innocent

America?

Who are you

now?

Your

Ghettos as

Cruel as

The Warsaw-

Your murders

More sanitized

Than

Mass graves-

Less focused

Than

Kristallnacht

More subtle than

Gas–

A little AIDS here

A little crack there–

They’re crazy!

Not human!

They’re takers!

Not us

Like the killer

Who joins

The

Search for his

Victims

And fakes

Shock

When the

Bodies

Are found —

Death is Life

Greed is God-

America?

Who will have

The courage

To march

You

Through your

Crimes?

 

A Child Under Arrest in the Warsaw Ghetto
A Child Under Arrest in the Warsaw Ghetto

(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2017 All Rights Reserved

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Coming Out Day: At the Stardust

There’s knowing you’re gay and coming out.

I came out before before the L the B the Q and the T.

In April of 1969 anyone who wasn’t straight was a fag.

People who came out risked everything and those who were
‘found out’ often killed themselves.

How does one cope with laws so punitive public sex is safer
than bringing another man home?

Most of the older men I knew hated themselves .

They also hated the movement that came after Stonewall.

They didn’t see how we could win and they didn’t understand
Gay Pride.

“You’re proud of what?” some asked.

Gay life in 1969 stank of oppression and internalized homophobia, but there was something else going on; there was an emerging awareness that gays could say no to the System.

I came out on April 6th 1969 when my Mother took me to Charleston’s
only gay bar for my 16th birthday.

Illustration for Bobby and Miss Queen of Hearts
Bobby and Miss Queen of Hearts

At The Stardust

There was only one queer bar in Charleston.

 It was off on a musty alley behind the Old Slave Market.

 You had to kiss the doorman the first time you went in to prove you were queer.

There was this narrow strip of stage of stage above and behind the bar where some of us boys would dance when the drag queens weren’t doing a show.

The first time I went to the Stardust Momma brought me so I didn’t have
to kiss anyone.

Momma lent me some creamy Peach Cover Girl and a hot pink blouse.

I sipped my Pepsi and watched the queers gawk.

Aretha Franklin was on the jukebox wailing Respect and I
said: “Hey Momma. Let’s dance!”

Well she hauled me up on that stage and we did the dirty dawg.

There was this one dyke named Roxie.

She sometimes worked the door.

She was so butch she could give the kiss test.

She sometimes let me in when I came to the bar alone  but if the cops  stopped in for a ‘bar check’ I’d have to hide in the lady’s room and get “discovered” and throwed out.

Sometimes the cops came and didn’t do a bar check.

Sometimes the cops came and took money and left;

Sometimes the cops came came to watch the ‘dirty little faggots’ play:
Three straight white dudes with mean little smiles on their faces.

One night I was cruising the Battery when this vice cop
stopped me and ordered me into his car.

“Whatcha doin’ out all gussied up?” he asked, “solicitin’?”

“What does that word mean, solicitin’,” I smiled. I had just finished
reading The Little Prince.

“Sellin’ yer ass to the fags!” he replied.

“Oh that ain’t what I’m doin’” I said. “I gotta little Sister at home and Momma
says I gotta set a good example by fucking every girl I see!”

Well, he drove around town, trying to get me to say I was pushin’ drugs. “I bet you’re gonna turn that little Sister of yours into an addict!”

“Oh I wouldn’t do that at all sir! I warn her every day against such wickedness!
God strike me dead if I don’t!”

I guess we wore each other out.

The cop took me home to the projects. “Keep up the good work with yo’ Sistuh!” he sneered.

                                 ***

At the Stardust a boozy ex‑priest named Mother Rachel did the weddings.

 One guy dressed like the bride and the other wore a tuxedo.

 At the Stardust The Miss Queen of Hearts drag show was the major event.

The drag queens trashed every dress shop on King Street.

On the big night the butch dykes wore three-piece suits and their women wore gowns.

Mother Rachel was the emcee and he’d open every show with a report on how safe the Greyhound bus station was to cruise.

The place is jus’ hoppin’ with cops! So ya’all be careful–OK?”

There was this one drag queen who called herself Miss Tillie who always lip synced My Life.

At the end of the song where Shirley Bassey screams,‘ This is myyyy liiiiife,’ Miss Tillie ripped off his wig and thew it into the audience.

Then at the close of the show everyone in the Stardust joined hands
and sang There’s a Place for Us.

Street graffiti that reads 'There should be a Place for us
Street Art by Eclair Bandersnatch

I first wrote ‘The Stardust’ in 1984.

I’ve posted other edits of it to Art by Rob Goldstein
This is the original edit.

At the Stardust and all other artwork (c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
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Angels Passing By

from Tammy Mezera ~ Poetry

Tammy Mezera

.

Even a blind man could see Occam’s razor

and it’s blade glinting through fallen leaves

love comes and goes

.

Even those whom never heard the symphony

knows when the hymn is born and finally dies

love comes and goes

.

Those whom have never caressed rhapsody

could feel angels passing by

love comes and goes

.

comes and goes

.

But it never

says goodbye~

.

.

© 2017 Tammy Mezera

.

.

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Felicity and the Bright Red Pumps

Felicity stood nude in front of the full-length mirror.

She didn’t look forty.

Her hair?

Still thick and black.

Felicity inspected her breasts: firm and free of puckers.

She stepped back from the mirror for a last quick take.

Her skin fit perfectly.

Roger watched from the bed.

Mornings were difficult for him, more so recently, with
the burning in his gut that never goes away.

He grimaced and took another swig of his coffee.

“What?” Felicity asked.

“What, what?” replied Roger.

“You made a face.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t be coy darling. Is it me?”

“It’s never you.” Roger said. “It’s me. My stomach hurts.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better–tell me the
truth: you think I’m a hag!”

Roger gestured toward a chair by the bed.

“Have a seat Imelda.”

Felicity sat and smiled, “Bring me my choose.”

Roger hopped up and scurried over to the walk in closet.

Felicity watched him cross the room.

“I like that little droop in your ass.”

“I should have known not to let you see me naked. How
many pairs do want, Imelda?”

“Bring me my dance shoes!” Felicity laughed. “I was giving you
a compliment; you’re a sexy older man.”

“And you are well-preserved; are these the heels you want?”

Roger held up a pair of bright red Christian Louboutin
cha-cha heels.

“Perfect Ferdinand; you may kees my toes.”

“Will you promise to give me a break on the age thing?

“Oh, but Roger, Roger, Roger; I’m having a mid-life crisis: there
are books to buy and surgeons to consult!”

Roger crossed the room, knelt by her feet and said
in a mocking whine: “When I feel old I feel guilty!”

Felicity slipped her feet into her pumps and stood: “That’s
the spirit, darling. You write the book; I’ll buy the shoes.”

 

<c> Robert Goldstein 1990 -2017 All Rights Reserved

for Christy Birmingham with a change of perspective.