Not Lesbians
Two femmes, gauntly fit in the prime of adulthood.
Short, professional cut on one. The other bore crisp brown curls.
Are they lesbians?
A question birthed of weariness from I, my hips slouched against
the speckled pattern of the countertop.
One approached, and I knew at once the truth.
It was the shorter-haired of the two,
also short on curves and cuteness,
which,
believe me,
is no large insult.
It was, of course, in her eyes: the irreplaceable glint,
that weird flame within some women that burns all
who smell and taste its acrid smoke.
This is not to say that lesbians are not crazy-
there are certainly some demented ones out there-
, but there is a certain breed of straight white woman
that shatters the legends and forges new ones, circulated
among moose lodges and taverns globewide.
She spoke: 'Do you have skim milk?'
For sure, I was right.
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