Coming out a little - reality in a small town

One hundred and forty-nine miles from home one-way,
The earth is flat and I wander yet another Wal-Mart
Of West Texas proportion in a sprawling, faceless town.
The mirror aisle glitters with wedding-ringed women
And fat husbands with troikas of children sturdy like apples.
I cast no reflection and am off the wagon,
Snagging Vienna sausage and beer and
Walking for an hour without a glimpse of my own image.

Three bookstores in as many days, looking for refuge.
This one is neon’d and smells of video and Cosmopolitan.
I find two tattered copies of last month’s LESBIAN magazine
In a shop that boasts one paperback of Rita Mae
And a shrink-wrapped version of Gay, Joy, Sex.
Selling the glossy, the high school kid doubletakes.
I could be his mother, without his father.
He makes change and my face heats.

Middle aged alone and my ears hurt sometimes.
I think to surprise a woman very different from myself.
Maybe Black or Chinese or Full Blood Indian,
Making love to her until she is prompted to know my name.
Even this far away, I’m not sure I would say it.
She materialized, maybe, while I lowered my eyes,
Reaching to the floorboard for that last cigarette.
No matter why, it seems I missed her.

Dinner was a woman not my friend who lost her only son
Two years ago to an accident tragic.
She said, “You look sad” and I said, like her, I was.
Her gaze overshot me slightly much as distant city lights:
“I knew this man you might have liked.
He was funny, smart, just a little fat but not bad looking.”
My courage, fueled with distance, ventured that I don’t like men.
No matter, she responded, this one’s dead.

09-05-06