Writing: Ballad of the Rentboy [poem, R]
June 2006.
Ballad of the Rentboy
Smoke fled the flue of a seedy tavern,
As snow was falling down,
A man dressed in furs had ducked inside
With his capped head down.
He sat at the bar and drank a pint,
From a grimy glass.
Then came a boy with flaxen hair,
Shaking his lovely ass.
His eyes were blue as the ocean,
And his pants quite tight.
To the toff he purred, “Hey Mister -
I can make your night.”
Our man was startled, you could say.
He sits and twists his ring,
To his surprise, he felt a thrill,
All the girls couldn’t bring.
So up they went to a cheap inn room
And they had their fun,
But our man couldn’t get enough -
Their story had just begun.
The boy got gifts of gold and silver,
Jewelery, laces and frills.
But their story was not a happy one,
It still gives me the chills.
Since they met that cold winter night,
It had been a year and a day.
When they were in bed after a tryst,
Our man had something to say.
“I gave you food, I gave you money,
You can think what you may.
I’m going back to my faithful wife, but -
You were a pretty good lay.”
Now, 'tisn’t that our poor boy here
Suffered a broken heart,
After all - “You’re just a whore,
Being paid for the part.”
Brash and careless the boy became,
All his friends could see.
They would warn him about his johns,
And he said, “Let me be.”
In the wee hours, b'hind an alley,
Ready to call it a night,
A burly chap was calling to him,
Looking all ready to fight.
“On your knees, whore,” said the bloke.
The boy pulled tight his coat.
In a flash, a hand was ripping his clothes,
And another 'round his throat.
The next morning was a fine spring day,
When our man walked by.
He passed the alley with a page in tow,
The dead boy he did spy.
His young page cried out in shock,
“Look! What must we do?”
“Nothing-” nonchalant was his tone,
“He'd nothing to do with you.”
They found the body bloody and bruised,
Couldn't put a name to his face.
An unmarked pile of dirt in the Earth,
That was his resting place.
But a fresh rose was laid secretly there,
Placed with willful care.
Its sweet perfume penetrated the air.
'Twas yellow as his golden hair.
Ballad of the Rentboy
Smoke fled the flue of a seedy tavern,
As snow was falling down,
A man dressed in furs had ducked inside
With his capped head down.
He sat at the bar and drank a pint,
From a grimy glass.
Then came a boy with flaxen hair,
Shaking his lovely ass.
His eyes were blue as the ocean,
And his pants quite tight.
To the toff he purred, “Hey Mister -
I can make your night.”
Our man was startled, you could say.
He sits and twists his ring,
To his surprise, he felt a thrill,
All the girls couldn’t bring.
So up they went to a cheap inn room
And they had their fun,
But our man couldn’t get enough -
Their story had just begun.
The boy got gifts of gold and silver,
Jewelery, laces and frills.
But their story was not a happy one,
It still gives me the chills.
Since they met that cold winter night,
It had been a year and a day.
When they were in bed after a tryst,
Our man had something to say.
“I gave you food, I gave you money,
You can think what you may.
I’m going back to my faithful wife, but -
You were a pretty good lay.”
Now, 'tisn’t that our poor boy here
Suffered a broken heart,
After all - “You’re just a whore,
Being paid for the part.”
Brash and careless the boy became,
All his friends could see.
They would warn him about his johns,
And he said, “Let me be.”
In the wee hours, b'hind an alley,
Ready to call it a night,
A burly chap was calling to him,
Looking all ready to fight.
“On your knees, whore,” said the bloke.
The boy pulled tight his coat.
In a flash, a hand was ripping his clothes,
And another 'round his throat.
The next morning was a fine spring day,
When our man walked by.
He passed the alley with a page in tow,
The dead boy he did spy.
His young page cried out in shock,
“Look! What must we do?”
“Nothing-” nonchalant was his tone,
“He'd nothing to do with you.”
They found the body bloody and bruised,
Couldn't put a name to his face.
An unmarked pile of dirt in the Earth,
That was his resting place.
But a fresh rose was laid secretly there,
Placed with willful care.
Its sweet perfume penetrated the air.
'Twas yellow as his golden hair.