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.

Sequins dropped

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.