When I was but a lad, I overheard
a phrase of such telling wisdom, as at
the time held no hint of it being absurd:
‘all under-hip game is the same’ no mat-
ter exclusivity felt of those that
so indulged; love being the special word.
It was an extension of the argument
that all humans are the same; yet we differ,
as though each a separate creation meant,
and love is the bridge we cross to each other,
form communities, informs our behaviour,
in relationships as though heaven sent.
Thus love I could begin to understand
transmuted ordinary forms and acts
in those spell-bound by it, to countermand
base instinct, and make of the simple facts
of life its privilege, and of lustful acts
of common form, joys of a golden band!
Thank God for love one might rightly say
to create its own world from one we know,
where flesh is flesh, and in the light of day
we none of us is distinguished; what though
‘under-hip game is the same’ – it’s not so:
as each finds out, each, in untutored way.
