The Terrible Luxury

Dearest Scott,
how do I deal with not knowing
which side you’d be on?
Wondering forever
whether you’d surrender
to your worst qualities
or outgrow them,
outsmart them,
outlive them?
Or if you’d hide
in lyrics we’d loved —
“Maybe I’m on nobody’s side!” —
and if I’d hide with you
behind fragile neutrality
as if we could ever be safe.
Instead I soldier on
hoping to avert it all
while cloaking my fears
in dark humor —
a gay trans friend said yesterday, bitterly,
“I guess all I have to look forward to
is being put in a queer camp”
and I replied, cheerfully,
“Hey, me too!
Queer camp high five!”
and we both laughed
knowing we would never be safe.
I suppose it’s a terrible luxury, dearest one,
to never know
whether I’d have fought
against you
or beside you
or not at all,
and to know you will always be safe.

