Two Poems
Gavin Ewart, 17 March 1988
“... Byron’s Problem When they come up to you, as you’re sitting quietly, and lay their fat boobs on your knees, and look into your eyes with their own big eyes and wistfully caress your cheek and so, without speaking, say ‘Please!’ it’s a clear invitation to come out and play and you can’t just tell them to go away! When the wine’s round and they press up against you gently, it’s much like a musicless waltz as they talk about books (and they all write books) – that’s foreplay, nothing else, my son, true sex; it’s the talking that’s false! But you can’t make a snarky and sharpish riposte, with words like ‘Forget it!’, ‘Get lost!’ When they stroke your hair too, and finger your coat slyly, or lay a neat hand on your shirt, they all cast you as Faust (and they all know Faust), each one’s a Gretchen, maiden, pure; but they all want your hand up their skirt ... ”