Provincetown Poems

Cape Cod — a Yankee tradition. Provincetown — the artist’s heart. And drawing from all ten Gay directions, the hoohoos gathered every summer to proclaim their right to be themselves under a different sun. Men with men and womyn with womyn, the world didn’t care here — here in Provincetown. From the early morning parade of muscle men to the midnight strut through the gamut for an evening hook-up, P-Town expressed its right to America’s freedoms. When I first went abroad of my closet and witnessed the sweet sights and sounds of Provincetown in summer, I believed myself on a different planet. Was this Venus or Mars? Did I really land in a place where everyone was just like me; but, of course, no two persons are alike — and that is the glory. I did not need to walk the line of someone else’s making. So I picked up my pen and tried to capture that which could not be caught. But despite the challenge, I made an effort — a small prologue to anyone interested in tasting the true thing. This is gay cotton candy. These are my Provincetown Poems.