• A Guest
• if one walked her kind strangeness
• into the dyke bar, through the aggregation of
• first dates and long stares out of corners,
• waved in by the watchful butch at the door,
• and wondered what old adversary her face
• might recall in the memories of those who
• have many times recovered from him here,
• she would be jolted by the snap of billiard balls
• breaking against the cunnilingus anthem
• that excites the air, into which the visitor passes,
• where she, fluctuating visible, invisible, believes
• she is welcome, and does not belong.