29 Lie

I had only one lie, one secret, and that was my serial infidelity, and even that I kept secret only from my family. My friends knew all about that side of me, I made no secret of it, indeed I told them stories of my desires, my conquests, and my failures, and for that attitude of mine more than one friend had praised me and called me honest. Many of my male friends and colleagues behaved just as I did or they confessed that they wanted to and wished that somehow they could. It was the way of our world, it appeared to me, and among my circle of men friends John was the only exception. Never had John been unfaithful to his wife, he told me, not ever. It was not necessarily the sex to which he objected, he explained, but to the lies and secrets that illicit sex required. In the twelve years of our friendship John had never expressed any disapproval of my sexual conduct but now for the first time he did. John still considered me his good friend, he explained, but it was important now, he said, that I know he disapproved.

Reprimand.

Rebuke.

I call this poem "Riddle."

Compelled to be a good son, I am a cruel brother.

I am a cruel friend.

Compelled to be a good father, I am a cruel husband.

Loveless, I love my mother.

I love friends.

Made wonderful friends, I desire lovers.

Presto! Twelve desire sends.

Beautiful, loving, and young, they fuck me.

I can't say no.

I am a God-damned fucking so and so.

Who am I?

It was an important moment in my life.

The truth.