A Poem

Published online with Snarl, 2021

When men envision the future,
polyester-clad chest over wrought-iron frame echoing
like the long, hollow hold of a wooden boat,
they see
little ray guns, shiny,
all chrome and lime green
shooting itty-bitty fireflies into the open air.

They see the Jetsons-pastiche of
a candy-apple red hovercar blazing
through the sticky tar-black backdrop of night.
A chorus of Tralfamadorians sing
Ave Maria.

When men envision the future,
in those candid paperbacks teeming with
big numbers and weighty theories,
you don’t see queers clad like
Neil Armstrong.
You don’t see hardworking women carrying
manila envelopes pregnant with

What a glorious future we have
to look forward to
in these visions of men.

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