Patrick McCauley

A Bunch of Flowers for Saint Valentine’s Day

Sweet breath of Heaven.

You have written again in Italian

the beloved has no gender role

nor race nor age nor woolly hole.

it was a rider riding by

who sat with me one wet july

and wept with me in the deepest dark

and lay with me through the florid night.

Though I will agree I saw your face

last night upon the curtain lace.

The billabong was dry as dust

the moon was swelled with fleshy lust.

Beloved begone, you murder me

but stay tonight a little while.

Come to my bed you lusty girl

let me whisper in your fur.

Patrick McCauley

My Country

Am I gay? said the Oz

or am I a lazy boy?

Do you believe, he was asked.

Do you really believe beyond

the evidence of your eyes

beyond your smell

beyond what you hear or read

beyond even your memory or through mind?

Do you believe in us, Oz?

she was asked again

(for he was also she)

if you cannot we

will not let you in.

You must say yes to…