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    AC Benus
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Poetry - 46. ...Comic Book Heroes III...

.

Comic Book Heroes III

 

 

Raúl

was one of those boys

who by their way of looking at you

ask you

to kiss them;

to touch them all over.

He was

one of those boys

who

after some time has gone by

only the name

sticks with you:

Raúl.

 

+

 

He was always a little odd,

very quiet and reserved;

he looked me in the eyes

and called me his friend.

Kind of sad at times,

at times happy telling

his dirty jokes. […]

 

+

 

When he started

going steady I told him

how pretty she was

but

I always looked at him.

 

+

 

I went to the wedding,

saw him cut the cake

and dance the wedding waltz,

happy with his wife.

But at times I caught him

gazing at me

from across the room,

remembering my arms

and the way they held him.

 

+

 

“Did you lock the door?”

he asked,

and that was all he said.

 

+

 

He really couldn’t care less,

I mean,

if it was left up to him

we could do

whatever

we damned well pleased,

since after all, really,

it was a question

of personal taste.

But the law is the law

the cop said

as I zipped up my pants

and my friend

fumbled for a bill,

one of those big ones.

 

+

 

We found him dead

that morning,

a little bottle empty beside him

and a letter

addressed to Pedro.

For us,

his family

all the silence

and uncertainty of not knowing

who Pedro might be –

the Pedro

to whom in his letter,

which we opened

in a moment of desperation,

he said simply:

“I love you.”

 

+

 

Now

that I’m

hopelessly

in love

I recall

the first time

we saw each other,

how I struck up with him

what might be called

a conversation

and a few minutes later,

we fucked

on the carpet at his house,

so soon

after meeting

on a bus

on the Valle-Coyoacan line.

+

 

Good wishes

to you,

imagining you

handsome and strong,

now

that my lover

the friend I love so much

is far away from me,

now that he’ll be coming home

tonight

a little tired,

loving me even more,

telling me

with or without words

about the meeting

between you,

going to sleep

on my shoulder

before his usual bedtime.

—Ernesto Bañuelos Enríquez,[i]

1978

 

 

 

 

 

 


[i] “Comic Book Heroes III” Ernesto Bañuelos Enríquez, from “The Story of Myself and Some Friends in These Fragments of Daily Loves” reprinted in Now the Volcano: An Anthology of Latin American Gay Literature [Winston Leyland, Editor] (San Francisco 1979), ps. 71-75

https://archive.org/details/nowvolcanoanthol00leylrich/page/70/mode/2up

_

as noted
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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I just don’t comment on poems. But these three, now put together, left me with so many thoughts. I hear the voices of family, friends, mere acquaintances, and glimpses of strangers. After each reading I found myself staring out the window and just thinking. So many thoughts.  

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40 minutes ago, 84Mags said:

I just don’t comment on poems. But these three, now put together, left me with so many thoughts. I hear the voices of family, friends, mere acquaintances, and glimpses of strangers. After each reading I found myself staring out the window and just thinking. So many thoughts.  

Thank you, 84Mags. Voices. Yes, poetry as an art form has the uncanny power to conjure them in us. That is why the date of their composition is often irrelevant to how they make us feel. Thank you for reading Ernesto Bañuelos Enríquez's work here, and I hope there will be renewed interest in this important poet :)    

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Color me interested in this poet!

22 minutes ago, AC Benus said:

I hope there will be renewed interest in this important poet :)  

I can’t help but agree with @84Mags that the more of these I read, the more voices I hear. 

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1 hour ago, Lux Apollo said:

Thanks for sharing this. 

You are welcome, Lux. Thanks for reading and commenting

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