Freak Magnet/Let Yr. Freak Flag Fly

 Either title might apply to either poem; equally, the poems are parallel rather than sequential, 
 and might be read in either order.  You could flip a couple of coins to choose a combination.

		Nothing to do, for once,
 so I flip through the York Notes but I’m taking nothing in
		and I end up remembering things:
 thinking of dancing, teaching the lights to burn
		bright as a rudeboy’s teeth,
 then crimson with embarrassment when the bra came off
		and the grins got wider.  I thought
 how much I enjoyed it, how pleased I am I stopped

		and what came next.  Oh dear,
 I was thinking of you, old devil, and are you still
		sifting the ash of us?
 Not me.  I’ve got the cat and the boss, that’s enough,
		them and the course and the job,
 and an appointment down the tattooist’s for a touch-up
		on the thighpiece tonight.  Sometimes
 bound and upside-down, it’s true, but fragile

		I’m not.  Here’s what I want:
 my portion, on my terms, no bloody brooding;
		I proved it on my body-
 found freedom in the knowledge of my chains
		and everything else I deserve-
 just look at me, not breakable at all!
		Old man, it’s like I told you:
 if we are damned, enjoy it.  At least it’s warm.


 §

 Awful, the uses you found for your body, your courage,
		& nobody else so brave:
 after stripping, the coke & the kid, gone off to college,
		trying to be nineteen
 but full of ghosts 
                        and coming with me through the pain;
	       thy servant, a fist.  A mirror
 fixed on reflecting every twist of your face,
		each tear, the glimpses of terror;
 we had no safewords or anything else to say:
		romance it ain’t.  
	                                     Do you want
 it all still, little glutton? Is your language
 		seasoned with Mills & Boon
 as ever, your consummations only masters
		made to slap you down,
 them with a stash of surgical gloves, a cupboard
		stuffed with explicit wrong,
 ropes straps gags & whips, ridiculous horrors;

		and you with a ring- that rubbish-
 hands tied behind your back, a mouthful of bone
		& a headful of love & marriage?
 I could spend my nights wishing for differences, I don’t:
		you left me with certain knowledge
 that it’s not fair & it’s not right but it’s what we have,
		the bleeding & the damage.