twenties. I turned to look at the street and as I did so, he turned around. I turned back to look at him, and caught the loneliest look I have ever

seen.

We smiled. I straightened my tie. We stood for a moment looking at each other.

"Isn't this gay life hell?" he asked. I nodded.

"It is lonely, too lonely," I answered.

He started to walk off, and I caught myself wanting to stop him.

"Wait," I said, "would you like to to have a cup of coffee with me, or something?"

He turned and came to me. My fear was no longer present.

"Where?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing."

And strangely enough I believed myself. Nothing could ever matter, as long as I was not alone anymore.

ROBERTO

A year ago today he died:

inside,

I feel the same

as yesterday.

his name,

is quick and soft like water, when i speak.

His cup still stands, upon the shelf

beside my own,

a ring of dust the rim,

It's all i have of him,

that isnt packed away.

The nights ive sat, awake in tears, his

things unpacked and spread around me... his favorite shirt, his comb, and watch,

a book that he was reading, and his pocket-change exactly thirty-seven cents,

two dimes

three nickels

two sad, small pennies

with unseeing lincoln eyes.

They jingle when I hold them, and seem to say: away, away... he's gone away.

Cone

Richard Caplin

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