You'll Get Us Both Killed
poetry by Anthony Isaac Bradley
CONTENT WARNING: homophobic slur. Please read at your own risk.
You’ll Get Us Both Killed
Either hipster or look-at-me fem
with those pink shorts. You’ve got my attention
and everyone else’s on this dark avenue
where a mob of police rookies
practice proper demeanor, ready to slap ass
at the bar, slap the taste out
of misbehaving queers like us.
You don’t hear me telling you I like pussy
one says after seeing your shirt
with F – A – G embroidered in lime green.
You’ll get us both killed
before you let me go a day
without holding your hand in public.
You know my paranoia for PDA
because the Midwest is the Midwest. Yes,
I made it out alive
but I have to look for concealed carry bulges
on passerbys loudly wasted, just enough courage
to take sides if love rears
its pink head. You laugh,
but I’ve seen boots leave a wig a mess.
when their wearer suddenly has to run
in platform heels.
You practice your walk-away-upset routine
down the sidewalk: a loud Hmmph, a spin away,
clop clop with your thighs as pistons.
Of course I’m going
to chase after, hold your hand,
but only here, in the dark.