by tom miller

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2:00 p.m.
june 9, 1999

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"the finest girls come here to get away from guys like me,

so i come here to pick them up."

the hutto

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it's hard to believe this is me.

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i read my entries and think to myself, i'd never go out with

this guy. he's a pig. all he thinks about is sex. he has no integrity.

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my x-boyfriend used to say again and again,

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"when i met you, i hated you." then he got to know me,

and found that indeed, i was a pig. but at least, a pig who knew he

was a pig.

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now, i'm not so sure i'm a pig, but i definitely read like a pig.

i read my entries for form, spelling, content, and all through the

prose, there's a pig.

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nowadays, i look in the mirror and tell myself, i don't look so

bad for 33. a little eyebrow work here, a little dental surgery

there, a nose job, put on about 30 pounds., new clothing...

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i could be a regular james dean.

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okay, leonardo dicaprio.

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how about mark hamil after the car accident.

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can i get an amen for the kid from mask?

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barnyard animal?

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road kill?

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burnt up moth?

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i was in the bar setting up for the night, and he came in with his new

boyfriend. he ordered a coke. i served it to him.

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"hi, jaime."

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"hello," he said.

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it was like we had never met; never spent two years together; never fought

and cried and kicked holes in the walls; never kissed or made love.

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he went over to a table and they talked for awhile.

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the next day, i was writing again. jaime has inspired some of my best

writing. one day, i hope to write a poem for him that he'd like to read

and keep. something he could pull out of his pocket and think about.

something to help him remember the good times, few though they were.

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but anyway, i wrote this:

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x-boyfriends and their wives
a gay novella

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when it's over

you go to work

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do your job

live your life

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try to forget

the madness

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but then

the x-boyfriend comes

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with his new wife

holding hands

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like you never did

and they sit

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together where you

can see them

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they smile, talk,

look into each other's eyes

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like you never did

it's a great show

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they're really

getting to you

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reaching into your heart

pinching the valves

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one by one

the aorta the mitral

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the pulmonary and tricuspid

you beat slow motion

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see that the wife is younger

more beautiful than you

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better teeth stronger chin

tighter body toned and tan

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and you think to yourself,

what a goddamn waste!

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he's going to fuck that one up

too, like he did me.

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then your heart stops

but you keep on working

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normally, i don't read something i wrote the same day of a poetry reading.

but the work was inspired enough to make it in. like little children

screaming for attention, i said, okay poems. i'll take you. i'll take you to

the zoo.

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it was an event for pride, which is a week where gay people try to

convince themselves they're proud to be gay. i'm not particularly

proud to be gay, if that's what i am. i'm just me, that's all. i don't

want a parade, or a week out of the year to tell the world i suck dick.

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on the other hand, i don't want somebody beating my skull in with

a boat oar because they don't like the idea of two men sharing love.

but you know, they'll beat you for something. if you're a faggot like

me, or a nigger like her, or an old lady with a fat purse, or

a chink stealing secrets from the government, or a spic ruining

america-- making the national language spanglish; whatever you are,

in the worst way, they'll beat you sometime; somewhere.

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hell, they'll even beat you if there's nothing wrong with you. those

are the ones that stand out the most and beg for the attention of a

good slow beating.

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no parade can stop it.

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i was asked to read poetry for pride week, and i arrived at a place

called wild angels. mostly, it's a lesbian bar. there's a patio between

wild angels and another bar in the same complex called, spike. if

you can't guess, that's mostly a man's bar. or if you're a lady who

looks enough like a man, you can get in there too without too much

trouble.

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i remember the first time i brought my friend, susan, there, when spike

was called, the ambush; a far more colorful name. i said, "susan, let me

show you what the ambush is all about. we walked in, and there was a

porno playing on the television of a man sucking his own penis. everyone

was laughing and carrying on. it was like mardi gras on bourbon street.

i remember she looked up at it just as the guy blew his was into his

mouth. she turned and left.

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they don't show pornos anymore, and the men just sit and drink. they

watch the wheel of fortune show. they don't talk much. maybe the

apocalypse IS coming. a big meteor of boredom will strike the earth.

people will dissolve into blobs of gelatin and ooze off into the dirt.

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i was to read in the patio, and it was there where i said hello to

lady chace, drag queen and former navy seal. she had brought her

karaoke machine to use as a sound system. she was wearing a

lovely blue gown and her hair was styled into a bun with a big

pony tail coming out of it.

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she looked like a horse.

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her "husband", frank, who is actually a woman who dresses as a man,

was there wearing black. she's often wearing black. sometimes she wears

leather. she prefaces every sentence with the phrase, "let me put it to you

this way..."

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and i never have figured out how lady chace, a gay man who dresses as

a woman met up with frank, a woman who dresses as a man, and found

what is probably the most loving and honest relationship i've ever seen.

but if ever anyone tries to tell me that love doesn't exist, i can always

point to chace and frank. "see that horse there? the horse with the vampire?"

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and i read poetry.

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a poem about life, a poem about love, a poem about shit, a poem about

sex, a poem about a monkey, about a lizard, about my friend william

who died of AIDS, a poem about flies, and then i closed with this one:

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nothing for love this afternoon

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cobwebs

these spent dusty nets

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long since abandoned

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they hang

with no purpose

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fill no needs

but for the subject

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of this poetry

which is not about love

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there is nothing for love

this afternoon

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nothing but cobwebs

and the shadows they cast.

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i was pretty good that night.

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