Email Poem

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Poem

Your happiest tribe might not be the same as mine
Mine might swim by in a school, silver fin fine.
Mine might be included in a Poe’s murder
Or a flock that sleeps next to a beard-ed herder

Your new found joyful companion might be gay.
Don’t tell Granddad that! Says dad,  Don’t play!
But what if you are gay, do we stop loving you?
Yes! Some really marvelous religious fanatics say too.

Get away from those who would have you never be you.
The ones who want you to be straight, USA-driven, cornflower blue.
Because what if you are a drag queen, a trans or something worse?
Aunt Purdie looks at you in disgust and hits you upside the face with her purse.

Some people justify violence when you find your own tribe.
They do not want you to be yourself or enjoy your scribe.
I say “do what you do, and be your lizard-like self.”
Squirm, dance and sing, along the Atlantic’s cold shelf.

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