Hawes Atomic Wild Side

I added this collection of Hampton Hawes: Three Classic Albums plus, a year or so ago as the iTunes price was right & I love Hampton. When I was living in Sydney, Cape Breton he was my real introduction to jazz that wasn’t fusion. Traditional straight ahead inventive playing & well worth adding to any collection.

John Betsch Society: Earth Blossom (1974) – sweet postbop percussion & sax/flute pleasant. Christer Norden: Library Music (2021) – similar to Betsch – soothing, more piano oriented jazz verging on easy listening.

Babatunde Olatunji – (Nigerian drummer) Soul Makossa (1973) – This is timeless excellent African music – a jazzy mix of traditional with a great version of the title track, one of my favourite exotica instrumentals.

Count Basie: The Complete Atomic Basie (1994). I did a search for Neil Hefti – best known for his music of there 60’s Batman TV show – & read that he was a well-established jazz musician & arranger & this is an lp he produced & arranged for Count Basie. Excellent big band jazz. Could I tell Basie from Ellington? Probably not.

Limbo Party: Ivy Pete & His Limbomaniacs (1962) was an lp my folks had & I did a little iTune search & there it was full of great playful ‘limbo’ music. The limbo was a fad dance in the late 50’s early 60’s & introduced many to this world music sound. Then it was rarely listened for itself. It stands the test of time.

Next on this cd mp3 compilations are a couple of movie soundtrack. First Gerry Mulligan Orchestra: I Want To Live (1958). When I saw this film on TCM I was amazing at the soundtrack – some of the action takes place in various jazz clubs & the producers were smart enough to use real jazz musicians, so there are great scenes of Gerry Mulligan’s group playing. Good film with an excellent soundtrack.

Another, thanks to TCM, soundtrack find is Elmer Bernstein’s Walk On The Wild Side (1962). One of the most versatile soundtrack composers his use of jazz saves some films from obscurity. A strange film, check out the opening credits on YouTube, the music suits this over-heated melodrama set in a New Orleans brothel. The lp didn’t include (I guess for licensing issues) the Brook Benton songs which I also tracked down on iTunes as an ep – Walk On The Wild Side (1962). Well worth having.

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I was not drooling

I wanted to but

do have enough restraint not to

at least not in public 


I was not sticking my tongue

where it shouldn’t be

only where it was invited to be

I need encouragement

before I let it dart


before I let it it follow

a trail of drool

along your backbone

to between your butt cheeks



never satisfies

the way your shudders do

your moan

as I teasingly invade

that territory


you never see that tongue

you only feel it

What! Another poem about sex! Is that all you think about? Shouldn’t there at least be a trigger warning – innocent children might read this & have their entire sense of a moral sexual self ruined. Children who can’t tell the difference between the reality of Iron Man & the fantasy of RuPaul.

Writing about sex while keeping it erotic presents its own set of challenges. Clinical detachment vs sensuously ambiguity. No this piece isn’t ambiguous by any means but at the same time isn’t fetishistically detailed either. No smells. No tastes. (Until now that is because saying that probably brings those tastes, smells to mind.)

The piece, if you read it to the end, becomes perhaps more experiential than you may want, or leaves you wanting more vivid details, or makes you wish you had never read it at all. It might make you judge me – like judging someone by what they wear around the house as opposed to what they wear in the street. ‘Oh – so that’s what he’s really like.’

Did part of you immediately think this was a true story – that it was confessional, deeply personal poetry. Poets don’t write fiction. Write about you know, there is no room for imagination- in fact room for imagination is getting smaller – white male writers can only write from a white male pov or risk being labeled as racist misogynists. 

Did I teasingly invade your thinking?

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City of Valleys – 12  



Steven watched Luke cash out the last customers. On Pride eve they closed early to give the staff a chance to get enough sleep for the next day. Head chef Curtis took the final lock up to stay late to do prep work for Sunday brunch.

  Steven wheeled in his bike and Curtis locked the doors. He and Luke pushed through the throngs to the bank on the corner.

“This is one night I feel safe making a deposit.” Luke rejoined Steven outside the bank. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Peace and quiet.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Luke?” Steven wanted to talk about Tim but didn’t know how to start.

“Yes, love?”

“We … uh … did the kiss for the first time today.” 

“How’d it go?”

“Not bad.”

They walked through the park to the car.

“Not bad doesn’t sound good. His breath stunk?”

“No. It was weird. Kissing another guy like that.”

“You’ve kissed men before.”

“Yes, but none since we’ve been together.”

“None! I find that hard to believe.”

“You know what I mean. None in a ….”

“This was the nude stuff?”


“Did you get nekkid?”


“How was that? Was the rest of him as pasty as his face?”

“Yeah. But it was …”

“My God! He popped a boner!” Luke laughed. “Didn’t he?”

“Not exactly.”

“You popped one!” Luke continued to laugh. “Be careful, you’ll put an eye out yet with that thing.”

“Luke, it isn’t funny. I think Tim has feelings for me. I’m not sure what to do.”

Luke stopped to check for the car keys.

“Tell him to piss off faggot.” A voice came from the shadows between the houses. Three men stepped into the street light. One tapped his palm with a length of wood.


Kevin went up the stairs of his fourth bar that night. The dance floor was packed. The music was loud, the smoke was thick, and the floor sticky under foot.

A song started. The chunky quick organ with faster piano on top of it went to his feet and forced him to the dance floor. A wild uncontrolled sax underlined a strong female vocal that repeated “Set yourself free.” The sax grabbed him by the crotch, and his legs pumped like pistons into the music, his hips moved by the swarm of men around him. 

A swarm that pulsed together as one. 


“What do you want?” Luke asked. “Money?”

“That’ll do for starters and the keys to your car.” The guy with the stick growled. At his nod they all moved. Luke and Steven had no time to react.

The first punch caught Steven in the cheek. He tasted blood. He braced against a car and kicked out with his right foot, caught the guy in the stomach. As he glanced to Luke another blow caught him in the stomach. He doubled over to the thud of wood on flesh.


Once he saw that he’d get nowhere with Kevin, David went home. He didn’t like his puppy-in-need-of-affection feeling. Kevin made him ache to hold, to touch, to love, to own, but he couldn’t let himself appear vulnerable to someone he had just met. 

His answer machine blinked. A message from Robert Ing.

“David. You witnessed what happened at Big E’s this evening. If you value your future you will never design another garment for that fucking cow. If you do, you are dead in this town. Trust me.”

By the cold tone of voice Robert meant every word.


Steven pushed from the car, head-butted the man in front of him. As the guy fell Steven jerked up hard, fists first, to send the man sprawling. 

Luke was curled in a ball on the ground to protect his head while the other two men kicked him. With an angry roar, Steven raced at them. They turned on him.

“Faggots should never fight back. Pisses us off.”

Steven was grabbed from behind. The other two stepped at him.


Yves finished his coffee. The energy around him became more frantic than festive. People were intent to prove they had a great time with as much noise and glitter as possible. It was as if they they wanted to reduce “queer” to the flash of a sequin or a silver chain.

All he had to show for his gay life was a pink plastic whistle on a string draped around his neck. An apt symbol, one that responds only when put it in your mouth.

He went out, walked a block from the crowd to hail a cab. He saw two guys punch someone held by a third. He blew his whistle loud and ran to help.

“I knew these steel toes would find the right asshole sooner or later.” He kicked out at the back of one of the punchers. The guy dropped like a stone.

He grabbed the other and whacked him with the back of his hand. The blow sent the man into the front of a car. There was a satisfying crack as the man’s head slammed into the windshield.

The third man dropped the guy he held and took off.


Steven heard a distant whistle. Next he fell into the arms of a heavy set man. After a deep breath he recognized Yves, “Yves! Thank God! We were goners.”

“Good t’ing I wore my sheet kickers.”

“I’m okay. Check Luke.”

Luke lay in a pool of blood. Yves knelt to check his pulse.

“He’s alive.”

Steven started to cry. He threw up.

“I got a cell phone. I’ll call the cops.”

Steven shivered and looked at Luke while Yves called. 


Kevin sat on the front steps of the Inn to take off his sneakers. His feet and ankles ached from the dance floor. His socks, drenched in sweat, smelt of the cologne in his shoes. 

He stretched out under the clear sky and took in the sounds of the city. An ambulance flashed past in full siren and lights. After a brief panic he found his keys in his back pocket. 

The house was silent except for the air conditioner whirr. It was like he was fifteen sneaking home. He held his breath and tip-toed up the stairs. He winced at each squeak. In his room he breathed again.

In the dim of the bedside lamp, he peeled off his wet shorts and wrung his Leafs t-shirt over the sink. The socks and undies he had rinsed out earlier were dry.

In a hot shower, he dropped his cut-offs and t-shirt into the water underfoot. He smelt cigarette smoke on his flesh and tasted the salt of his own sweat. He washed the smells of the bar off him and felt the slither of bodies around his.

God, he had loved dancing with men. Not that he danced with any one in particular. A couple of guys had caught him between them on the dance floor. One pressed him from the front while the other rocked him from behind. The memory got him hard.

He went to get his towel. Someone sat on the bed. 

“What the …”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

It was Paul. His tattoos swirled in the faint light.

“How …”

“You forgot to lock the door. I knocked and it opened. Honest. You were in the shower and didn’t hear me. Let me dry you off.”

Kevin stepped back.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

“But …”

“Yes, I know, I have a lover. Robert won’t be home for hours. He knows I mess around.” He reassured as he dried Kevin’s back. “Enjoy your first night?” 

“Some of it. Especially this part.”

“I’m glad. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, but you left Big E’s so fast. I wanted to give you a bar tour.”

“I managed that on my own.”

“Yes, I took you for an enterprising lad when grabbed the spot light this afternoon.”

“Thanks. Made it was easy to get Robert to let me do a few numbers at Big E’s. How could he say no “No” in front of people gushing about how good I was?”

“You’re even more enterprising than I expected.” Paul sam just as his unshaved chin scraped between Kevin’s shoulder blades and down to the small of his back. Paul pushed him forward and his lips moved along the crack of his ass. Kevin pulled away, but Paul held firm.

Kevin had never imagined this as sex but it was wonderful. His body relaxed as he gave into it. He moaned. Paul bit his ass cheeks before he stood. He pressed Kevin against the doorway. Paul’s body was against his. Skin to skin. 

“Feels good?” Paul whispered.

“Uh huh.”

They faced each other. They kissed. Paul’s cock beside his sent shivers up his spine.

Kevin moved them toward the bed.

“Not shy either, are we?” Paul laughed.

They rolled on the bed. Paul on top, then Kevin on top. They lay on their backs to catch their breath.

“First time?”

“Almost. There was some guy this afternoon. He … like … did me and got rid of me. I must have did something he didn’t like. I don’t know what.”

“Don’t worry. There are lots of guys who only want to tear off a piece.”

Their faces were inches apart. He traced Paul’s tattoos with one hand. 

“There’s lots to learn.” His fingers plucked Paul’s pubic hair.

“You want it don’t you.”

“Want what?” Kevin wanted Paul’s cock but was ashamed to admit it. That was sex. That was gay sex. To let a guy do you was one thing, but to do another guy made you a queer. He was gay, but now that he had the chance to be one he was afraid. What if he didn’t like it? What if he wasn’t queer?

“Go on.” Paul nudged Kevin. “You want my cock.”

Kevin leaned forward. Paul’s cock was suddenly there. It smelled of flesh and heat and sweat and spunk. The head was slick with pre-come. He brushed his tongue along the shaft, his nose in Paul’s balls breathed deep.

Intoxicated by the nearness of another man, he gingerly tasted cock for the first time. Not what he expected, but he liked it. Paul pushed his cock into Kevin’s mouth.

Kevin moved up and down slow. His cock was in Paul’s mouth. He stopped to enjoy the sensation. Then he continued.

He enjoyed the full-mouth feel that both satisfied and demanded. As he sucked and Paul sucked him, he had the sense of wholeness that he sometimes had when he sang. Harmony and excitement at the same time.

Paul’s hips pushed quicker in and out of Kevin’s mouth. He spread Kevin’s legs and sipped his head between them.

  “Keep sucking baby!” Paul implored while he kissed and licked Kevin’s ass. “So sweet. So perfect.”

Kevin’s cock pressed on Paul’s chest and pushed back and forth. He took Paul’s cock deeper into his mouth as he came.

“Sit up baby. On my face.” Paul pulled Kevin’s ass to him. He jerked himself off as his frantic tongue dug around.

Hard again, Kevin began to jerk himself. As Paul’s come erupted, it hit Kevin in the face, Paul bit his ass cheeks harder and harder. He came a moment later.

He rolled off Paul.

“Good?” Paul asked.

“Better than I dreamed. And me?”

“Fine. You got a nice cock and a sweet ass. What else could I ask for? If Robert sucked my dick like that, I wouldn’t be messing around.”

“I see.” Kevin didn’t contradict.

“Don’t get me wrong. Robert is super. One of the most affectionate guys I’ve met, and honest. But it’s always fuck fuck fuck. Not that I mind fucking him, but sometimes I want … you know what I like.”

“Uh huh. I think I’d like to wash my face.”

Kevin kissed him before he went to the washroom. How could he ever go back to Mitch’s. Back to what? He had sucked cock and he had enjoyed it. After tonight there was no way to go back. 

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Vanishing Species

Recently Toronto experienced an unexpected warm spell that was welcome by most except for these not so hardy members of a vanishing species. Chances are some will return next season but none will ever be the same again.

I feel dirty
featureless futureless
crumbling inside
hand me my nose please
sun block please
nice profile
defenceless fortification
the ramparts in ruins
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Savoy Brown Signs

I had a couple of Savoy Brown cassettes that I bought at Radio Shack way back in the early 70’s. They had a store in the first mall in Sydney. I bought my first stereo there. They had racks of deleted cassettes by bands I’d never heard of. One was Savoy Brown. I have in an mp3 collection Blue Matter (1969); Raw Sienna (1970); Looking In (1970); Street Corner Talking (1971). 

Similar, at that time, to Fleetwood Mac they were a good bar blues band that changed as they lost members. Raw, Looking & street where the first I had. Blue I added decades later when I upgraded cassettes to mp3. The guitar sound is wonderful. Raw is my favourite. Looking, Street see the first changes in members & changes in direction as they move in a more r’n’b direction & on Street they cover songs like Can’t Get Next To You & Wang Dang Doodle. Raw Sienna is an underrated masterpiece.

In the mp3 collection is also Canada’s Five Man Electrical Band: Good Byes & Butterflies (1970) they had a big hit with ‘Signs.’ The rest of the lp is solid, slightly political/ecological songs. Here too is another one-hit group: Status Quo: Picturesque Matchstickable Messages from the Status Quo (1968). Pictures of Matchstick Men was a huge psychedelic hit & the lp is full of similar period songs including a cover of Green Tamborine. Throughout their career, they never achieved the same level of success in the USA as they have in Britain.

Next is Jimmy Cliff: retitled for US: Wonderful World Wonderful People (1969). A great ska sound by this Jamaican superstar. Besides the title song this set included the often covered ‘Many Rivers To Cross.’ Uplifting songs & great ska music. Back to Canada with The Guess Who: Best Of (1971). It’s hard to believe that the band that did the ultra jazzy Undone also rocked out with American Woman. Musical diversity that made it hard to label this band. Finally Fat Mattress (1969). anchored by Noel Redding (of Hendrix fame). Fat Mattress probably would never had surfaced without his fame. The music is unexceptional folk rock in the Traffic vein. Something for completists like myself.

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I am a spiller

a little clumsy

I don’t fill glasses to the rim

I pour cream into my coffee

with my mug in the sink

I wipe the bottoms of cups



before I put them down

just to be sure


I try not to carry

a glass of water

from one room to the next

I place dishes

in the sink

so running water

doesn’t reflect up

I keep a towel handy

for drying splashes 

around the bathroom sink

after I wash my face


I miss you

There is lots of truth to this piece – I can’t wash my face & hands without splashing the counter, sometimes the floor, around the bathroom sink. I’ve tried to be careful but … well … it’s no use. I’d need some sort of splash guard around the sink, but a mop up towel is less cumbersome. The same holds true for washing dishes – splish splash time to wash the floor as well as thew dishes.

I’ve yet to find a Brita filter carafe that doesn’t drip. I’ve stopped ordering tea in restaurants because no one has engineered a teapot that doesn’t dribble, so that puddle on the table isn’t my fault, really. Don’t get me started on trying to fill my coffee maker or a travel mug.

More than once I’ve accidentally knocked over a glass of water, dropped a slippery bottle of ketchup, dribbled coffee all over myself from a takeout cup with a loose lid – warning contents may be wet – Oops there goes the cream filling in my donut all over my jacket. Some foods are not meant to be eaten walking down the street, at least not eaten by me. 

Clumsy is another way of saying being so preoccupied you aren’t careful with what you are doing. So, what I like most about this piece, is that last line, which I hope rewrites everything you’ve just read. How steady are your hands?

an older piece about clumsy me:

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City of Valleys 11 



“Oh!! Miss Ing Thing?” A cackle came from the dark on one side. Tisu Trauma climbed on stage. She wore a distressed wig with beer cans for curlers and a tattered pink nylon robe thrown over a lime green flannel night dress.

“If it isn’t the darling, daring, Achoo Mama.”

“Good heels, Ing girl. We are almost eye-to-eye.”

“I know how you love getting down on your knees.”

“Good thing there was sale on knee pads at the Gardens.” Tisu lifted her nightgown to reveal goalie pads underneath.

“Oh my my!” Miss Ing feigned surprise. “How do you get grass stains off those?”

“The same way you get ass stains off your face, darling.”

“Evian water!!”

“The girls have all chipped in to buy you a little something to show our deep, deep esteem and respect for you, Miss Ing Thing. Bring the offering forward.”

“I’d say you shouldn’t have, but I’d be lying.”

“Not the first time. Strange though, nothing on you grows when you lie.”

“Unlike your gut, my pet.”

“Be a doll and close your eyes.”

“Anything for you, Blanch.” 

Tisu leaned to her accomplice, flipped open the box she held, and took out a cream pie.

“Here you are, dear Thing!” she screamed. Tisu held the back of Robert’s head and rotated the pie in his face. “I’m sorry we didn’t have time to bake broken glass into it.”

The crowd roared, and Tisu Trauma and her henchmen made a fast escape from the bar.

“You fucking cow! I’ll get you for this!” Robert wiped pie from his face. He smiled to the audience. “So much for the improvised portion of our program. Luckily I have someone who will blot out this horrifying spectacle. I have for your delectation a new, recently discovered by me, talent. Kevin McLeod.”

Kevin got on the stage. He squinted in the lights.

“Okay Kevin. It’s your party.”

The music for “It’s My Party” started. As he sang it was Georgie, not Judy, who wore his ring. It was followed by the natural sequel “It’s Georgie’s Turn to Cry.” 

David was caught off-guard by how comfortable Kevin was. No self-consciousness and complete sincerity in what he sang. He brought an urgency to the songs that made them genuine, not kitsch queer lampoons.

Kevin left the stage, and Miss Ing reappeared in his leather police woman persona. Extra pointy breasts, tight black skirt, lots of chains and platform shoes that had jail bars for heels.

“I hope this one is pie proof. If not,” his night-stick opened into an umbrella, “I’m ready.”

David followed Kevin as he left the bar, but by the time he’d made his own way through the crowd, he didn’t see Kevin anywhere.

Perhaps it’s just as well. When a dog catches the car, what can he do with it?

Mark detached himself from a group in front of Java Squared.

“David, you’re looking a little lost.” 

“Nights like this I feel like one in many millions. Each year it gets bigger and bolder.”

“And drunker too. It’s sad to see so many equate gay pride with getting drunk and stoned. Such a waste.”

“I suppose getting ripped on extra slow espresso isn’t as morally bad?”

“At least in the morning I get to remember who I had sex with the night before.”

“Or the afternoon before?” David leapt at this chance for a casual mention of his conquest of Yves.


“The ten year old … this afternoon.”

“Right.” Mark winced at the age crack. “I don’t go for chicken but this one was eager. I was sitting there and he almost jumped my bone in the park. You were with someone.”

“Yves.” David implied as much as he could. “How was he?”

“Young. Too young to be on the loose. Came as soon as I got his fly down and took off without so much as thank you ma’am.”

“How callow. Yves was a gentleman.”

“You and Yves?”

“Mais oui, mon cher. No eat and run there.”

“No wonder you are all aglow.”

“Yes, his accent is thicker than it appears.”

David wanted to confess the glow was from seeing Kevin, but couldn’t indulge in schoolgirl emotions. Although he and Mark had been friends for some time, he didn’t understand someone who was gay but didn’t drink. What was a life centered around draughty rooms in community centers? 

“I suppose we’ll be seeing spectacular garments of yours in the parade tomorrow?” 

“A couple.”

As they talked neither paid full attention to the other, but searched the crowd for that someone to unlock the night and maybe the future for them. 


Yves exited a taxi on a side street behind the Community Center. Bare-chested in a black leather vest and a kilt with nothing under it, he wasn’t up to public transit.

He had no idea what clan his tartan represented, but the deep reds and greens meant it was a hunter tartan. Fresh polished black boots with green socks completed his look. Cell-phone tucked in the sporran.

The kilt was his one concession to fashion. He avoided anything that might stereotype his sexuality. Leather vests, once something rough and tumble, were now something every gay man had to own. Much like the deck shoes and smart sweater of the past.

It was also an easy nod to drag without the worry of the right wig and heels to match. Bare flesh allowed people to project on to him and not have to read anything from his t-shirt. He wanted people to see him as someone comfortable with his body. 

He walked through the park behind the Community Centre to the AIDS memorial. Roses, ribbons or small teddy bears were wedged by various names.

  Out of the park, he was in the thick of things. Differing cliques were faced off against each other. Each protected its territorial bar with attitude. There was “Bart’s” the leather bar that barred leather transies as too fem and pretty boys as too pretty. “The Brook” was the preppie bar that didn’t acknowledge anyone not in the right shoes. 

“Big E’s,” famous for Miss Ing Thing and her drag shows, drew a cross-section but if you were too old, too obvious, or too extreme you were shunned. “Big E’s” was in a feud with “Papa Wiggie’s” where Tisu Trauma ruled. The feud was more p.r. than real enmity.

“Dream Catcher” was the one lesbian bar on the strip that had managed to last for a few years, despite its strict women only policy.

  For a community there were a lot of enemy camps with land mines of taste to explode to leave the uninformed ignored and unaware of why. With so many out in one place, he was surprised at the civility that was maintained. 

He stopped at Java Squared for a coffee. He would have gone farther to Tencity, but didn’t want to face any more of the factions without caffeine to gird his spirits.

Outside, he joined Mark and David. He had enjoyed David that afternoon but was tongue-tied now. This was the awkward social stuff that was never taught in school. He couldn’t write a Queer 101 book till he had finished the research.

“Nipples suit you.” Mark pinched Yves’ left nipple. “And what do we have here?” He flipped the kilt. “Oooh, an eyeful and a mouth full too, or so I hear.”

The way Mark directed this last remark at David told Yves that he knew about their encounter. Should he be amused, flattered or annoyed? David and Mark were friends, so it wasn’t out of line for David to talk about him, but Yves was uncomfortable that he had. Worse, Mark joked about it.

It was this sort of confusion that made him shy. How can you trust when you don’t know who or what to trust? 

“Mark, shut your mouth, please. If you aren’t embarrassing Yves you are certainly making me blush.”

“David must have been saying good things because my ears weren’t burning.”

“It’s not your ears …”

“Mark, keep this up you’ll be making an amend to both of us.”

“Sorry David. Didn’t know I was stepping on your skirt.” He drew David aside and appeared to make a more sincere apology, then turned to Yves. “Too much coffee. I hope I didn’t say anything that would you know … between you two …”

“Don’t worry.” Yves replied.

“I gotta run. I’m manning the Gays and Lesbians in Recovery table tomorrow afternoon. I want to be fresh faced and cheerful to bug the shit out of these guys.” Mark waved in the direction of the bars. “There’s nothing like being proud without a hangover that makes you wish you were fucking dead at the same time. Bye.”

“Plans for tomorrow?” 

“I’m looking after Jake. He’s made his own float for the parade.”

“You march in the parade before?”

“A few times. The first time was an amazing experience. All those people along Yonge street cheering you on. For a moment I was on top of the world and safe in it. You?”

“Not yet. It’s enough to see Robert parading my invention for him and … ” David broke off. “Hey Kevin!” 

A young man stopped confused.

“Over here!” David waved.

The confused look lessened. “Uh … Hi.”

“David Walters? We met at Robert’s garden party.” 

“Right. I didn’t expect anyone to call my name here.”

“Yves, meet Kevin. Kevin, Yves.”

“Your first pride day?” Yves asked.

“Can you tell?”

“Those eyes tell everyone.” Yves was amused by the eager awe in Kevin’s eyes as they went from one group of men to another. “Like a kid in a candy shop.”

“Wait till you hear him sing. He did some ancient Leslie Gore numbers at Big E’s and made them sound like … like … the emotional high points of Cats.”

“Paul helped.” Kevin blushed. “We ran over them a couple of times at the Inn. I never learned words so fast in my life.”

David gazed at Kevin in the way Yves recognized as a man smitten. Kevin was so full of the newness of gay life around him that he was unaware of any vibe that came from David.

Had he ever felt that way? Had anyone felt that way about him? Both trains of thought depressed him.

“Time to push on.”

“Sorry about Mark.” David kissed Yves quick on the mouth. “Call?”

“Sure.” Yves walked away from something he wanted to understand, but was afraid he’d never get the chance to experience.

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Snowy Mount Hope

I was up to the Bayview/Eglinton E, area of Toronto, Monday March 13 & took a stroll through the Mount Hope Cemetery, which backs on to Bayview. I loved the snowcapped tombstones & statuary. As you can tell by the names it is a mix of Italian & Polish (?). From the number of crucifications & saints I guess it is Catholic. wiki confirms that


The road through the property was cleared but the cemetery proper was snow covered so I couldn’t get close to the gravestones or do a search for any of the more noted people buried there. Many of them had photos of the deceased imbedded which I have covered out of respect. Maybe if I’m there in the summer I might get a closer look.

St. Christopher carrying a soul to heaven
Christ (?) carrying a soul to heaven
family plot
curved angel wings
aren’t your wings cold?
follow His soul to heaven
another child in the snow
solace of the good book
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