Queer, in America

A Year of Sonnets — 031/365

Photo by Marco De Waal on Unsplash

Now bite your tongue, like silence will protect
from arrows slung or bleach that dribbles down
on skin; my dear, you better feign respect,
avoid the eyes that burn beneath that crown
of polyester red, that loud-as-day
American, that pride that won’t relent;
their nooses ready. Willingly, they’ll pay,
trade freedom for a martyr’s crown, repent
for microphones, with hands all flashing Pride.
White mothers weep for sons who meant no harm
(while blood still flecks their soles). Pundits deride
that “different” person, dead. No lucky charm
will save your ass, with proud boys on the prowl —
You pray, you weep; those bastards laugh and howl.

2019: A sonnet every day. Follow along!