April 28, 2004


I caught up with an old friend on Monday - gave me a call out of the blue. Made me think about this, which I wrote for him about 8 years ago. Time flies.



they've sunk you in that dunk tank
of religion again, hoping hoping it's
just a so-called phase, that you'll
soon hop that woman-chasin' train
to wedville and pop out some blue-
eyed intelligentsia. and your brother
aims and whoosh, you're down again.

they want Sears portraits for mantel
jewelry. they want copies and copies
of their gene pool, the comeuppance of
middle american success. they'll sink you like
a witch though. and if you'll capitulate
they'll relent and find you ms. perfectblonde
with a degree in doting. yes dear no
dear sure dear. sex? dinner? this
dress? i'll fetch that's SO cute.

they want you to "keep your options
open." perhaps inhibit yourself
to one night a week -- it's GAY DAY at
Wrigley field, and if you're good
you can keep the mementos tucked
in that locked familiar closet.

come on son. take it. it's that
good ole boy drug. not too much now
or you'll kill yourself. we'll
help you become...and you'll like it.
step on up.

with those tincan hands they cut you
so deep. and when you bled
it was all simple, more than pure --
a bump on old mama fascist pride --
a comma to remember who you are
when the water's shrunk and their
trump's worn thin.


Posted by hln at April 28, 2004 06:01 PM | Poetry | TrackBack

I am simply in awe at your ability to put words together. It must be really cool having a head that can do it that well :-)

Posted by: Harvey at April 29, 2004 09:17 AM

What Harvey said... Nope I can't do it either! That is excellent.

Posted by: Teresa at April 29, 2004 09:54 PM