AFTERNOON
I wondered what the four Armenian guys
drinking beer on a footbridge by a stream
in Griffith Park on a Tuesday afternoon
thought of me when I walked by
with my dog.
I would bet three of them didn’t
give me a thought, any more than they
did the squirrels running about
taunting my dog with
their fluffy tails.
But one of them--there’s always one--
he noticed me as I noticed him. I think
he thought: ‘This guy is a one of those gay
guys. He doesn’t have to marry a girl he
doesn’t really want to marry because
everyone expects it from him.’
He may have even noticed the way my ass
looked in my jeans, but if he did, he
chased that thought with the beer
he was drinking, as if he could
quench it like thirst.
More likely he experienced a moment not
of lust but of envy, thinking ‘he can
fuck who he wants and not make
apologies for it.’ And in that moment,
he had equal parts fantasies of being me,
sleeping with me, or breaking
the bottle of beer
over my head.
MCO 2005
