James McKenna | For the Woman at the SuperAmerica Gas Station on Broadway & University Who Called Me a Pink-Haired Faggot

December 2019

James McKenna

For the Woman at the SuperAmerica Gas Station on Broadway & University Who Called Me a Pink-Haired Faggot

Know this if anything: my laugh / is usually much softer i’m sorry / my throat tightened like that you see / my comebacks are always on tape delay / an angel sent after the flood what else were we / to do but shrug our shoulders splash / a wing or two stomp our feet in the blood / puddles call it grace what i’m saying is / i know too much of shallow wells sister / may i call you that / as i was leaving you in the parking lot / your son pounding on my windows/ i mistook each thud for a kiss / no / i thought you were asking me to stay yes / as i drove into oncoming traffic / i thought of what it meant to careen / into mercy could i swerve toward salvation / is it odd i loved the sound of his fists / on my car i caught myself yesterday / four in the morning night-blue palms flattened / onto steel why is it that i want a man’s hands / on any body of mine even when / they want me dead his spit dried to the glass / there are 14 car washes with america / in their name within 10 miles of me how many / of you i need not search long or at all / but also know this: i wasn’t trying / to laugh i was trying like any good faggot / to say hello back to you to speak / when spoken to like any good faggot / i wanted the gasoline to smear slick / over my mouth to split my tongue open / to flame to lap up my lips & swallow

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