LGBT, an Abridged History

Squirming under a towel on Sennen beach,
I watch my brothers, already daredevil
and beefy, run headlong into the sea
while my father reads The Godfather
on the Rover’s hot front seat and my sister,
still in her water-wings, taps the glass
and passes him a paper cup of tea.
The scene is set for the household comedy
of growing up. My father’s Burma letters
pressed away with Bristol Beaufighters
and Urdu in indecipherable script spell out
the ravages of the war but now I’m back
from art college again with Alison Moyet
on cassette. He’d read a letter I left out
that spoke of Gary not as friend but lover
...