Thursday, April 14, 2005

no rest for the wicked

when spring
time comes;
and the buds begin their sky reach
and my leatherjacketarmor gets shelved,
with only a white tee-shirt over
two twin tank top undershirts to protect
my breasts from the rest of the world;
it transforms my buyingacupofcoffee transactions.


some, who are used to my wintery skins,
adjust their glasses from across the countertop
to try to understand my form;
eyes fliting back and forth, as they are can'tconcentrateon pouring,
inspecting from my haired chin to my sideburns to my chest
and forth and back
again, their confusion betrayed by
the spilling of my hot drink.


and trying to give my change,

;careful of the change;

working not to brush their hand against mine,
unsure if they want to touch the
unsure springtimeme they are just
sure just bloomed before their eyes.


but i always tip them anyway,
regardless and more for me than them;
because i know that
i have made change
in that brief moment --
that's what i repeat to myself, hypnotically and emphatically, as i sit down --
i have survived the rough and seasoned edges
of the commonplace interactions
that swirl and twirl,
tornado-like,
in my daily gender revolutions.

1 Comments:

Blogger emmmma-jay said...

sunnyboy,
i need more writing. more of your posts. please -- now now now.

heart heart,
emmmma-jay

11:14 AM  

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