Downtown bench on city hall lawn
Thinking it would be comfortable to read and write
As the rest of the day gets spent in creativity
Waiting for the clock to speed up
But this bench feels weird
Feels too open
Too vulnerable
Like a prick with a badge is going to drive by
See me sitting here with Steinbeck and a script
Stop at the curb
And get out of his car with a baton in his hand and a cannon on his hip
And ask me what's my purpose
Why am I sitting here
And when I go to speak
To answer his vicious questions
He'll hit me
He'll crack my cranium open like a smashed watermelon
Turning my thoughts to pulp
And realizing what he did
He'll call dispatch
Tell them he witnessed a gay bashing
And couldn't do anything to stop it
Because he arrived too late
I gather my books and my bag
And seek refuge in a doorway
Somewhere I could press my back to
And not feel watchful eyes
Looking to take their anger out on the lonely queer
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 4
Poetryhello again! another poetry book - number four, to be exact. if you've been here a while, you know the drill: there's no order to this thing, and after 100 poems or writing pieces, there's gonna be a new book. about the cover: it was a Thursday at S...
