It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon here. Last night’s dense fog has coated the grass and bushes with a layer of hoar frost that now glitters in the sunlight like diamonds. The corner market has soy milk again for lattes, and I have nothing specific that absolutely HAS to be done today. Which means that I can spend the day reading and writing.
I’ve been thinking a lot about prejudice lately because of harassment by one particular troll who seems to have issues with me because I’m gay. This is certainly not the first time I have encountered people who dislike homosexuality, and I’ve developed a thick skin so narrow-mindedness doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. Other people’s hatred is their problem, not mine. If they want to rant and rave to others with similar views about what consenting adults do behind closed doors, well then that’s their stroke waiting to happen. It only becomes my problem when then they try to force their idea of acceptable behavior on me.
Anyway, here is a poem that was inspired by recent events. I’ll probably tinker with it a bit more, but it is substantially complete. My only reservation so far is with the title. The title is essentially “name-calling”, which I have used to reinforce the idea that it is not appropriate, but I am not sure if that comes through in the poem or not. Something to think on, I suppose.
The satellite dish repair man quotes
the New Testament to me, waving his
arms amidst a pile of wire, his own
personal semaphore system. If he spent
as much time learning how to fix
electronics, we wouldn’t still be
here three hours after he started.
Others like him lecture me, those
self-important stuffed-shirt pontificators
who spout the Bibles verses out like water
from a fountain. Literal word of God,
they say. And yet they lecture me
in English – maybe the King James
version, maybe the Oxford version –
but nonetheless it’s not Greek, not
Aramaic. I doubt their God spoke English.
At least those who shout “faggot”
wear their hate for all to see, fake
Christians who twist the Bible’s messages
into dirty braids to suit their own fears