Peter Yowie Poetry
The truth is I have to change, it’s like a light bulb hangs in my soul. There’s shivers on the surface of the river and I’m delivered from another night of drinking. In the thinking man’s Cafe I sink back a coffee with a copy of a book. I think the great poets have a name for it throughout history, it’s called publish or perish.
Pop music sends me down the rabbit hole to Michael Jackson’s tea party, to the bearded lady, the queer and the weird. Ivy starts to grow on their iron gates of hate, stilettos and a superman Cape, a peck on the cheek from Madonna is like a moon in the window, like a wink from the Mona Lisa.
Gym bodies, working off our sins. She flashes me a smile, I catch it and ride it all the way to the shore. Sore muscles, hustle at the next machine, the sweat pours. Testosterone and desperation have led me here.
She came out of the closet like a gift from the Goddess, on hormone replacement therapy, in her high heels, taking feminine rights and peppermints. She leads men to question their masculinity and Gods to question their divinity. All roads lead to the cover of Vogue
In the Blood Orange Cafe in Auburn, where loyalty pays. Tyrannosaurus Rex of a train over the bridge, a lady takes breakfast with a Beagle
What do you give the lady for her birthday that’s got everything? Flowers from the supermarket. There’s models on the catwalk and shadows on the footpath but I’m fashionably late for love. The silver lining after the storm, after the last man who left her, I pin back the wings of her kisses. Just when I gave up on love, she came. The enchanted child, healing fairy, her songs are her therapy and ours
Magpies on the roof, the jazz band surrounds the singer, she’s dressed in white and everyone gets a piece of wedding cake- the song that never goes away, is there when you wake.
You limp wristed faggot, you forget the names they called you, you queer fuck. You hitched a ride on a 20th century truck, you buried your father in the backyard where the snow capped washing hung. On the telly Kermit the frog chased Miss Piggy but you just got grief for being different.
She’ll call you a motherfucker and you’ll tuck it between your legs and call her your queen.
