San Francisco Gay Bar Life (Castro-1968)

San Francisco Gay
Bar Life (1968)

(Poetic Prose)


In San Francisco, back in ’68,
I tried to be friends with them,
the queers, in the queer bar
called “Castors” near Collingswood
around the corner from the dojo;
talking to them in hippie queer-talk;
I was young, so young back then,
twenty, twenty-one, young and
imprudent; even went to their parties
(beer, snails, and cigars)—

Fred and Frank, were bartenders
at the ‘Castro Bar’ by Collingswood
Fred was tall and thin, Frank’s lover,
and Frank was older and fat, and had
a large growth on his lower left leg, I
was always fearful to ask him, on exactly
what it was.

Both had a knack for kidding, wit,
humor with moods that could shift.
It was there I watched the landing
on the moon, back in ’69, to late night
on the tube.

Anyhow, as I was about to say, the old fat
one always tried to put the make on me,
smooth talking, when Fred wasn’t looking.

“Hmn,” he’d often say as he walked
back and forth, along the length of
the bar… gave me a ham-sandwich
and soup, pushed up his eyebrow,
with a smile. I looked about, as if I
didn’t see, but I did, I just didn’t want
the old fart to think, I was thinking
what he was thinking—I liked the old fart,
even if he was gay. I sometimes
wonder whatever happened to him?


#2235 (2-8-2008)