Page 53 of The Black Flamingo

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It’s like shouting out,

“You have bum sex!”

I’ve heard it in music,

in songs from Jamaica

that call for gay men

to be killed.

When I get home

I’m shaking. I tell Mum:

“They were much younger

than me, probably Anna’s age,

but it was scary.

How do they know I’m gay?

Can people just see it?”

Mum puts her hands

on my shoulders and

looks me in the eyes.

“People are cruel, Michael.

Kids are cruel. Adults are cruel.

It’s just a part of life.”

I thought she would tell me

how awful what they said was.

I thought maybe she would call the police.

Instead she quietly asks,

“Have you told your sister?

Does Anna know that you’re gay?”

I assume Anna knows

from how we dance

to Beyoncé together

and watchRuPaul’s Drag Race.

I guess I could be straight

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