Because You’re Queer
By Aaron Smith
You know the straight man in your building
who walks to the door where you
and two neighbors are talking
is deliberately not talking to you
after he joins the conversation—instead
only talks to the two neighbors who are married but cool
with you and you think how lucky you are
that these good people are good
with you and your fag-
ness and because you know things about queer shame
you can’t believe you still want the approval
of straight people and then you’re a little mad at them
for making you feel that way
though you know it’s not their fault.
The straight guy is just back from Europe
he tells the husband and the wife asks
when he got back and because you’re a person,
too, you ask if he was there for work
though you know he wasn’t
because you know he’s a carpenter
and not one good enough to be invited to Europe.
When he looks at you
you see his annoyance that he has to speak to you
but maybe realizes because the couple likes you
he has to pretend he’s okay with you
so he softens to an insincere softness: he was there for fun,
he says, he and a friend go once a year
while his wife visits her family in Colombia.
He basically has two months of vacation
because his son, too, is away
at military school he tells your neighbors
and you nod with them enthusiastically
because it’s cool that he got into that school
and one day everyone will thank him for his service
though you’ve seen how he talks to his girlfriend in the hallway.
Still you say something stupid about how you’re a professor
and know that school is a good school
as if only professors know what a good school is
and the truth is you’ve never heard of it
but for some reason you need him to like you—
maybe so he won’t, at some point, drunkenly knock on your door
like he did the elderly neighbors
who accidentally blocked his car in with their car
and he needed to get to goddamn work.
You don’t need his approval
but you ask for it because you do need it
or want it and wonder
how many more times you’ll walk back
into that middle-school locker room
where the popular boys stand behind you and snicker
as you take off your shirt with your back to them
not wanting anyone to see your chest
not wanting anyone,
even yourself, to look at your body.
