I run into my old boyfriend's new boyfriend
on Boylston Street and, as he talks, I fish around
in my handbag, my pockets, for something sharp
so I can stab him. He prattles insensitive circles:
how my old boyfriend is impossible, but I already know that.
I want to call him queer boy, a faggot: he keeps calling me "hun,"
twirling the fringe on my ( Read more... )