Sunday, June 24, 2018

POCs at the Pride Parade

The view wasn’t brilliant for Gayville that day:
The outlook was overcast, with a chance of a rain delay,
And when a Twink death dropped, and a Bear did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the throngs of thongs on Pride day.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
“If only Citibank and Fannie Mae could get another float
We’d put up money for a Chipotle's Technicolor gay coat.

Chase dykes preceded Pinkberry fairies, and the Frosted flakes,
And all the corporate hoodoo sponsors baked a rainbow cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
There seemed but little chance of authenticity getting to the bat.

But Cynthia Nixon marched, to the wonderment of all,
And mayor, though much despisèd, opened a LGBTQI ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was safe space on 8th and a swelling crop top herd.

Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the sight
For Blk gays and Latinxs were advancing toward the light.

From benches black with people, up went a muffled roar,
the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted Koch Bros in the stand;
"They are unsponsored and unbought" boys in no one's band.

With a smile of Christian charity great queer visage shone;
they stilled the rising tumult, and bade the parade go on;
they signalled to the twinkling twinks, and the flag still flew;
And ignored rolling eyes of Mean Girls screaming “Strike two!”

“Fraud!” cried the chiseled thousands, “Fraud, fraud, fraud!”
But a 'bitch please' look from QPOC and all were awed.
Their faces grew stern and cold, muscles popped from strain,
They knew that these Qweens wouldn’t let this ball go by again

Sneer is gone from their lip, but teeth are clenched in hate,
They pound their air with the cruel violence of the state
And now the DJ holds the needle and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Posing vogue.

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,
The DJ is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men laugh, and somewhere drag queens shout,
But there is joy in Gayville—the POCs have not sold out.

- this is is a riff/homage/satirical take on "Casey at the Bat" I composed while eating a salad after Sunday yoga class.


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