Poor misguided girl
Can’t you see that boy on his lap?
Can’t you see that rainbow on his cap?
Naïve little girl
Don’t you see the way he flames?
He’s not playing games
He’s just not interested
Don’t take it personally, it’s not you
His daisy dukes, black boots and white
T-shirt should be a clue
Can’t you hear Streisand playing?
Much to your dismay
You must admit he’s gay.
Every time I see a poem by me and Patty, I automatically assume we wrote it about Begly, and we probably did. I certainly remember teasing her about the availability of some boy or other that she liked, but the truth is we were all there at some point when we were young and had yet to develop gaydar. Those damn gay boys can be pretty dazzling with their prettiness.
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