05-09-2017, 09:08 PM
Nineteen sixty-seven and I am a fag, not yet gay but definitely queer;
I can only admit that this is what I am because the law said that I could this year.
My dad works as a labourer, never brings work home. He’s quiet, though he has outspoken views;
not just on me, though he tells me be a man, but mostly on the tv news.
He hates politicians and he hates all police and he hates anyone with a car;
but he cadges a lift to get himself to work, always saying that it's not too far.
He doesn’t think that schooling did him any good but I don’t think that he was ever there.
I haven’t told him yet, that I am a puff. Mam says that she would never dare.
But I am.
It’s twenty-seventeen, I'm a transgender gay, dad and mum died a year ago.
I waited until my father was getting pretty weak then I told him what he didn't want to know.
He gave me some advice, the first I’d had from him, and he told me a secret that day.
He said for all his life he had lived a whopping lie, a bit like me, I didn’t like to say.
It seems he had ambitions, to give us something more, but felt that he was trapped by his birth.
All that he could do was to hope that things improved so he cast his vote for all that that was worth.
He said that he had wanted to give me a chance of getting up the ladder to success
so he voted with his heart, Tory every time...I guess it was tough to confess.
But he did.
tectak2017