Though they won’t prove his most notable feature,
his ripped-up over-decorated jeans
attract my notice first in the mid-American airport,
perhaps because, having just returned from Europe,
I’m more sensitive to our less formal
way of dressing in the USA.—-
Turns out that we are taking the same flight,
so I have the opportunity
to take a closer look: earlobes stretched
with big piercings, shaved arms and head
as well, under baseball cap, sleeve tattoo,
interlocking tribal red and black.
In his twenties, well-built, muscular,
with his girlfriend, who’s hot-looking, blond,
but minus his alternative look.
I run a gaydar scan, but it comes back
negative, even after, at the
baggage claim, I see that he has painted
his toenails a brilliant sparkling blue.
That’s pretty brave here in Oklahoma,
and I admire him for having the balls
to do his thing, fuck the stereotypes.
And yet, despite myself and even though
what the breeders do in bed is not
a topic that I tend to ponder a lot,
I can’t help picturing him on his back,
his legs in the air, and her, equipped
with strap-on, pounding him until he screams.
T. Allen Culpepper