This work by William D. Cattey is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
The Oldest ProfessionIn AmsterdamA sitting room With boys idly waiting Chatting With the occasionally arriving Well-dressed stranger. A drink A talk And sometimes departure To another room Or to the stranger's place. ---- In Montreal A room full of boys Dancing naked In the laps of older, Often insecure-looking men. Smoking Drinking Staring Often touching. Rules limiting What sort of touching Are, in fact, enforced. If there are departures They are quiet and covert. ---- Perhaps out of fear Or being too much the romantic, I've never myself Arranged a departure. Even so, I have felt a pull A need A desire. I have watched Touched And talked with Boys in both places, And felt better inside. ---- It's called "The Oldest Profession": Sex for sale. I think that's not quite accurate. If there is An oldest profession It's selling solace Not sex. |
| 5 January 2002 | |
| by Bill Cattey | |
| Notes on this poem. |
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This work by William D. Cattey is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. |