the night I followed you home from the drag show
The night I followed you home from the drag show,
it wasn’t the kissing that should’ve troubled
my husband, but your coffee cups—ironic
as the queens with their limey green kitsch.
However they came to you—gifts, maybe,
unexpected as our drive across town,
as my coat on your couch at 3 am—
the cups insisted on acceptance,
somehow creating for themselves a space
among chipped enamelware, black towels,
and the everything else that everyone knows
to belong in a bachelor apartment.
Oh, honey, they said with Day-Glo impatience,
aren’t you tired of being sensible?
Review by Andrea Jackson
I love that the speaker’s rebellious mood is attributed to the coffee cups.