Seaman

In a library, small, with circular, yellow windows
Fags crowded the space in night-shawls and leather boots
In formation, several of them stood around a thin rectangular table
Running down the center of the room
They sang, holding the hymns in their hands
And their melodic voices travelled through each hall in the library
Like the calls of the those who had fucked there 100 years ago, now dead
They sang something of the sea, and a man
Though I wasn’t listening to the words
The small space condensed their bodies and their musks
Hair mixed with satin mixed with leather mixed with polyester
And standing within their congregation of sweat and cologne
Strangely, all I smelled was my father
They sang so sweetly


                                                                                                                                                                           E. Falter 2/25/25