THE CABBIE THAT GOT AWAY

He drove an old battered Taxi
and tried to pick me up
every time I walked home

in the midnight rain. I had
very long hair in 1978,
and most people

thought I was a pretty girl.
In truth, I was a scared to
death

gay young man. Worried about
everything, and not sure
about anything.

I loved his blue eyes and
wicked smile, but never
managed to accept his

free ride: I knew the price
would become much too high
once he learned the truth

about me. So I kept on walking
and his sweet whistle was
like the soundtrack to some

favorite black and white movie
I used to love, but no longer
can remember the name of.

Poem © 2014 by Dylan Mitchell

What If Straight People Couldn’t Get Married?

I actually overheard someone asking this question, while I was standing in line at Safeway the other day. There was an "article" in one of the tabloids about how gay marriage would bring America to its knees (bad pun on purpose) if it ever became legal. The man asking the question appeared gay to me, and he was chatting with the cashier - a straight male Christian. I assume this because he was sporting a wedding ring, plus his casual answer was: "God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, so your question is ridiculous."

The gay man's face tensed up, but he didn't say anything more. However, the incident really got me thinking about the gay marriage issue, and how some straight folks seem to be clueless when it comes to understanding why so many gay folks are fighting for the right to legally get married.

Let's imagine (to help me make my point) a world in which straight people can't get married. A world in which gays and lesbians are casually stating, "God made Adam and Steve (or Amanda and Eve), not Adam and Eve." A world in which straight people see gays and lesbians getting married on television, in the movies, newspapers and magazines, but never any straight couples. A world in which gays and lesbians defiantly hold protests every time straight people fight for the right to legally get married. A world in which gays and lesbians openly hold hands and/or kiss each other in public, but straight people risk ridicule or worse - if they try to express their love for each other in the world.

Now let's throw in the Bible for good measure (pretend there are sections which clearly state that heterosexuality is an abomination, and the holy union between man and man, woman and woman - is something which pleases God to no end). If you are a heterosexual, how would all of this make you feel? Would it make you angry, depressed, or apathetic? Especially if the idea of straight marriage was considered a "ridiculous" one by many.

Essay © 2007 by Dylan Mitchell

ROUGH TRADE

I would be a liar if I pretended I still
don't think they are the hottest
thing ever in bed. Even if most
of my fantasies are based on badly
made porn: drunken sailors and
soldiers, playing with their meat
in front of a gay man's camera.
Just for a few laughs (and a few bucks).
I wonder how many of them regret it in
the morning? Or do they just brag to
their buddies about how they scammed
some stupid faggot out of a thousand
bucks? And all they had to do was
stroke their meat, while the queer took
a few pics. And they got all the beer and
whiskey they wanted, and even a
sandwich or two for good measure?

I once shared a 2 bedroom apartment
with a very hot straight guy. He knew
I was gay. Yet seemed to love to be
around me when he was fresh out of the
shower. Towelling himself off, as I stood
there and watched. He loved to tease
and torture me with all his butch beauty.
Once, he grabbed me by the shoulders,
and pushed my face down to his sweet
smelling crotch. "So what are you waitin'
for dude? Just go for it."

I was about to cup his balls in my
hand, and give him the blow job
of his dreams (and my own), when
he suddenly pushed me back, and
laughed in my face. "Dude, you know
I ain't no queer." I found a studio
apartment a week later, and heard
he had joined the army.

Now whenever they
show those sad photographs on
TV of soldiers that have died in
the war, I pay extra close attention.
And hope I'll never see his cocky
face. Every now and then, I'll take
a long shower, and use Irish Spring
soap. And remember his sexy smell,
as I imagine what it would have been
like, if he'd only kept his big hands on
my trembling shoulders. And let me
do what he secretly wanted me to do.
Instead of treating me like a joke.

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

THE STRAIGHT LIARS' CLUB (FOR MATTHEW SHEPARD)

Matthew Shepard: 1976 - 1998

Have you ever been the victim of a Hate Crime? I don't mean the verbal sort (getting called a faggot). Sadly, this has happened to plenty of gay men. I'm talking about when your life is in danger - because several straight dudes have decided they want to physically bash a queer.
This happened to me when I was 23. I'd just left a gay bar, and all of a sudden I noticed six dudes (they were drinking in a vacant lot across the street) were glaring at me. They started calling me a faggot, as they followed me to a bus stop I was headed towards.

Suddenly a beer bottle was thrown at me, and since there was no bus in sight (it was close to 1 A.M.), I figured I'd better make a run for it.  They continued to throw bottles at me (and call me names), as they chased me for at least four blocks. One of the bottles struck my head, and blood began to drip all over the front of my shirt.

I decided to run down an alley, and noticed an open back gate to somebody's house. I dashed into the yard, and hid under the porch. I could still hear the dudes shouting in the distance, and I was certain I was going to die. I was trembling and dizzy as hell, but managed to hide under the porch until dawn. I figured it was finally safe to come out, so I left the yard, walked to the bus stop I'd originally been headed towards, and sat on a bench. It took the bus ten minutes to arrive, and it seemed like the longest ten minutes of my life. But once I was on the bus, I felt like I just might survive. At least I was no longer alone. I did not report what had happened to me, and I still have a small scar as a reminder. I never went back to that bar again.

I wonder how often this sort of thing happens, and goes unreported? Since I never got a good look at any of the crazy dudes, I felt it would be pointless to go to the police. I was just grateful to have survived. But I suspect this kind of hate crime is more common than is known. I wrote a poem about Matthew Shepard, after I found this haunting photograph of him on the internet. I don't know who the photographer is, but I am forever grateful. Matthew seems at peace with the world. Plus he's still wearing his shoes. This fact becomes heartbreaking, because Matthew would ultimately be robbed of his shoes and his young life.


THE STRAIGHT LIARS' CLUB

Alone, dying, and tied to a fence
Robbed of your money and life
By your new gay friends
Not a husband, but a wife

Is what they dreamed of most
So they tricked you into the truck
Beat you bloody with a gun
Was it just a bit of bad luck

That made you trust a pair of
Straight liars? Or was it
Something more like love
Their deceptive smiles and

Macho ways: just a trap to
Lure you to your death
They hated gays, and liked to
Brag - long after your final breath

They seemed so earnest and friendly
What did you have to lose
Your mother and father and future
Your pair of expensive shoes

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell