To the editors:


[Hot Type, August 17]

On subway posters, so banal,

To be seen by one and all

Are dreams that gave a bygone age

Tremors of ecstasy and howls of rage.

Burton’s books were cruelly burned,

Oscar Wilde was jailed and spurned.

They’re stirring gaily in the grave,

To think the CTA (how brave!)

Has now placed in open sight

Dreams of dark Victorian night–

Those dusky youths that share strange joys,

The soft red lips of handsome boys . . .

In our more enlightened days,

The perfumed garden is for public gaze,

And the only thing that kissing kills

Is the secrecy of hidden thrills.

For the sins that lurked in Dorian’s picture

No longer meet with society’s stricture

And thoughts that once sent men to Hell

Can now be posted on Chicago’s El.

Bobbie Berlin