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HIS NAME IS TONY







I sit and ponder this man in my backyard.

He is different from every other man I know.

Within His own circle of friends,

He is a "Loner"

Who watches from a distant perspective.



For nearly two years,

I've ran into Him, off and on...

Superficial chats of jokes and jabs.



Still, He is different.



He helped me move,

Knowing full well I was a lesbian,

And madly in love with a beautiful woman.



Yet, He has never batted an eye.



While this beautiful woman and I broke up,

And an old ex came into view--

He remained steadfast.



"Cheer-up", He smiled.  "It could be worse."



How? I thought.



It's three weeks since the re-connection with my ex from 2000.

I've seen my grandchildren,

They are all three beautiful,

And my ex, is doing extremely well.



We had started to sleep together again,

But I ended it.

Simply because some bridges are better left burned.



Even though I love my grandchildren,

They remind me of a child that never came.



My last ex--

The jury is still out,

Yet I refuse to speak ill of her triumphs or misfortunes.



Still, this man has listened.

He is different.



He has seen me cry,

He has seen me laugh,

And he tells me, I think too much.



Tonight,

I heard about John F. Kennedy,

I heard Him tell of the Bay of Pigs invasion,

I heard Him cry...He was a political prisoner,



IN A CUBAN JAIL FOR THREE YEARS!



I heard of his hatred for any military.

I heard of His disgust of churches,

    Just another oppressive political system.

I heard about the rape...of a hard working man.



AND IT WAS A PRIEST!



He has joked about Me

"Finding the right man."

And I joke with him,

"Not until you find a 'right man for yourself first'."



But tonight there were no jokes.



He does not care about my image,

He does not care about lesbianism,

He does not care about much...

    Other than making me laugh and smile,

    And touching me with his heart.



He likes me for me...

    Even if that means I have Faith in God,

    That I am a church goer,

    In spite of my lesbian life-style for years,

    And disregards my manic-depression as a "problem".



Tonight,

After we retired from the outdoors

To the inside...

He mentioned, "I don't like sitting on the edge of your bed."

I had not realized that I had not taken time,

To enjoy my "Home".

But instead, I had turned the bedroom into a

GLORIFIED DORM ROOM.



I've known exactly,

How much He adores women.

Yet, I felt awkward asking Him,



"Please spend the night,

I'm not ready for sex,

I just need someone to hold me."



He smiled genuinely.

"I cannot.

It isn't that I don't want to,

It is because my flesh is weak,

And you are beautiful."



Then he rose,

Kissed my forehead,

And walked out my door.



Quickly,

I beckoned him back--

He had left His CD.

Carefully, he laced his finger in the center hole,

And pinched the edge with his fingers.



"Listen,

I wasn't going to bring this up,

It really doesn't matter.

But maybe tomorrow, you think you can start calling me "TONY".

Because, my name isn't "STEVE".