When I grow up,
I want to be a Professional Homosexual

I would make it
my job to know the words to every new House beat,
and would mouth the words to
it, my lips quivering full of passion--
the sounds of HiNRG my mantra, each
Please Don't Go and Baby Don't Go my own call,
my own plea...

I would make it
my duty to see every new movie with a Gay character,
and repeat its lines, my
lips quivering full of passion--
the lines of Hollywood my validation, each
minor character my own duty to know...

I would make it my solemn obligation to
buy the record of every soon-to-come-out artist,
and would sing it at every
possible occasion, my lips quivering full of passion--
every new beat by that
Teen Heartthrob my chant, each BackStreet Boy my own lust object for all to
share...

I would make it my god-given mission to know the every step of the
newest soon-to-come-out post-pubescent actor,
and worship his image, my lips
quivering full of passion--
his hairless torso my Bhodi Satthva, his boyish
looks my aspiration.

If I were a professional homosexual
I would know how to
order a mixed drink and not know of cocktails;
I would know how to discuss sex
and avoid romance;
I would know how to dress in tight clothes,
Read choice
magazines,
And forsake the straights in my life.

Alas! I can never aspire to
such greatness.