first of may, first of may, outdoor fucking starts today. :D and it's actually spring out here (the pink trees in front of my building are SO FLUFFY) so you really can get busy outside if you so desire.
yale's beinecke library contains, among other extremely rare items of historical value,
the bicentennial schlock collection, a random collection of odds and ends celebrating the us bicentennial. odds and ends like, say, a roll of toilet paper and dry cleaner hangers and hats and paper placemats and a
tv guide and a, er, novelty condom. not stuff you'd automatically think had historical value, except that twenty-five years ago someone though it did.
and one last poem now that poetry month is over.
"I’m Dating a Man Who’s Married"
to a man who’s dating a man who’s
married to a woman. The husband
of the man I’m dating knows he’s
dating me and my boyfriend knows his
husband is dating the man who’s
married to the woman who does not
know her husband is gay. The guy
she’s married to—the boyfriend
of my boyfriend’s husband—just told
his mom he’s gay and she’s happy
because she never liked his wife
which is kind of funny but mostly
sad and I feel sad that her husband
who’s dating a man is also a man
with a mother who has never liked her.
I tell my boyfriend to tell his husband
to tell his boyfriend that he needs
to tell his wife sooner rather than later
and I know he knows that but still it needs
to be said. My boyfriend said his husband
said his boyfriend plans to tell his wife
Memorial Day weekend when his grown
kids are home from college and everyone,
I imagine, is eating potato salad by the pool.
She works at a flower shop two towns
over. I want to go there when she’s not
there and buy her flowers, leave a note
with her coworker at the counter:
You deserve happiness, Natalie.
You deserve love.
Love,
Your husband’s boyfriend’s
husband’s boyfriend.--Aaron Smith
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ysabetwordsmith
