Poetry by Nancy Gauquier
I was thinkin’ about words –
and attitude and how
some people are so uptight about sex,
they use it to insult you.
Like, I used to be a “sweet young thing” –
ages ago –
but that gets old fast –
so now I’m an old bitch.
I looked up bitch and it means
a woman considered to be lewd.
Did you know that?
I didn’t know that.
So I looked up lewd and it means –
preoccupied with sex and sexual desire,
That is so me.
And yet it’s meant as an insult.
But if you make it an adjective,
it’s a compliment.
That was bitchin’!
It’s all context.
Let's see, he has a prick, that’s good,
he is a prick, that’s bad.
What is it with that?
If people dislike us so much,
why call us our favorite body parts?
No one ever says, “She’s such an armpit!”
“He’s such a big toe!”
But the names we call people.
Fucker, motherfucker, cocksucker --
Why are these insults?
I mean, hopefully, we’re all gonna be
one of these at some point in our lives.
What would we do without fuckers?
They perform an important function!
You’re talkin’ about Daddy!
Why is that an insult?
I’ve never met a man who said,
“Stop it! I hate that!”
I don’t get men.
Always tryin’ to get laid,
and then they insult you if you do!
But no one wants you to fuck with their mind.
“Hey, don’t fuck with me!”
They’re talkin’ about their mind.
But if you blow it, that’s good.
“You blow my mind!”
You know, every once in a while,
you meet someone and you think –
now there’s a mind
that needs a good blow job.
In the true sense of the word.
Just take the top right off
and blow out all that dust
and all those cobwebs
and blow away all those nasty germs
that breed complacency.
Complacency destroys brain cells.
Like -- Fuck you.
Why is it that the only people who say that
are the ones you don’t want to fuck you?
You know, that should be said with affection.
"Fuck you." " Fuck you too."
At this point, when someone says
“You are so fucked,”
I think, from your lips to God’s ears.
I just could never understand men.
But then I moved to the Castro,
and I discovered gay men!
Gay men are way easier to understand.
Most gay men actually want their partners
to have equal rights.
Most straight men say,
“Oh, I’m all for women’s rights,
I just don’t like feminists.”
That’s like saying it’s okay
if you want equal rights,
as long as you don’t think of any way
you might possibly get them.
They don’t get it.
They act like if you want equal rights,
you’re trying to take their rights away.
We’re talking about equal rights.
That means rights for everyone!
But straight men are afraid
that would take away
their right to be superior.
That’s not a right!
That’s a symptom of insanity!
“I’m the king!”
I hate it when I go out with some guy
and he tries to impress me
by putting other people down.
Like this one guy --
we go to the Castro theatre
and the young ticket-seller has purple hair,
so he’s got to put it down.
So he says,
“Would you dye your hair purple?”
I said, “Sure, when I was younger.
Now, I couldn’t get away with it.”
I did crazier things than that
when I was young.
I used to wear this black fake-fur mini-dress
with these tight brocade bell-bottoms
and purple high-tops.
And hair down to my ass.
It was so thick, when I wore my glasses,
I looked like It!
I took acid every week!
I danced naked in a graveyard in Bolinas.
I lived with a musician.
I fucked a perfect stranger
under the psychedelic puppet stage
at the Avalon Ballroom.
That’s what youth is for!
I should have said, “Yeah,
I’m gonna dye my pubic hair purple.
Why not? No one’s gonna see it.
‘Cept me, and I could use a change.”
Fence Sitters' Ball
I love to dance.
So I go to these neighborhood bars
but no one will dance.
So I was complaining
and my daughter says,
“Mo-om, all the best dancing
is in the gay bars.
You gotta go to the gay bars!
So I’m “but oh I dunno”
and I notice this ad in the Weekly
for the annual Fence Sitter’s Ball,
so I’m thinking now that sounds like me.
So I go to Jezebel’s and I give my $10
to the guy in the black leather jacket
at the door
and I’m late but it seems that I’m early
because not many people are there
and there is no dancing.
No one is dancing.
This guy is bent over with his pants down
and this young women in tight black leather
pants is whipping his ass,
but no dancing.
I’m looking all over for the dancing,
I’m looking in the back,
I’m looking upstairs,
I’m looking downstairs,
So I go to the guy in the leather jacket
at the door and I say,
“Is this an SM bar?”
He says, “Well, technically
this is the Fence Sitter’s Ball,
but there’s all kinds.
But they will whip you
if you smoke.”
So I think –
Well, I don’t smoke,
so that’s okay.
“But where is the dancing?
I thought there’d be dancing.
Where’s the band?”
“There’s no band.
But there will be entertainment later.”
“I don’t know –
but I can guarantee that at 11 –
someone is going to set his dick on fire.”
And I could tell
he was not speaking metaphorically,
so I figure the $10 must be
to cover the medical expenses.
But I don’t know how this guy’s
going to explain this to the nurse.
“Hey, what happened to you?
Get all excited while you were standing
too close to the barbeque?”
And this guy at the bar is watching me
wander around trying to figure out
what to do now, and he says,
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I am broke ‘cause I paid $10 at the door,
so I say, “No strings?”
He’s probably thinking rope,
and he says, “Okay.”
We’re sitting there and he says,
“What are you looking for?”
“I just wanted to dance.”
“This is a leather and lace bar.”
“I’m not into SM.”
“Oh, just the sensuous stuff, huh?”
(Just the sensuous stuff?!)
So I go to the guy at the door.
“You know, I thought this was a ball
as in dancing,
not as in come sit around for a couple hours
so you can watch some guy
set his dick on fire.
I mean, for $10, I could be dancing.
I can sit around in a bar in North Beach
So he takes out a $10 bill.
“I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
So I’m thinking, if I take the $10 --
can I still hang around
and watch that guy set his dick on fire?
Nancy G swears it is all true, and is still kicking herself for not hanging around at the ball, but, knowing herself, she would probably have run for the fire extinguisher. She lives in Central CA, and enjoys comedy, spoken word and theatre. She has one chapbook, Words, available from Weird City Books. Nancy Gauquier, Weird City Books, PO Box 8245, Santa Cruz, CA 95061. $5 b & w cover, $6 collage cover, plus $1 shipping. Make out any checks or postal money orders to Nancy Gauquier.