Tonight's Poet Corner: Rainbow Scars

Rainbow Scars
by Belinda Roddie

Trust me on this. My heart's skipping beats
every time I take a step, like a vinyl stuck
in limbo. I can't stay here, I can't play here,
I can't drink a beer without a panic attack. They're
coming from every corner, don't you get it? You

may think I'm overreacting, but I know demons
when I see 'em. They wear torn up jeans and patched
vests, and they smoke two phallic cigarettes
at a time. They hold the smoldering stumps in
their mouths like walrus tusks. They smell like
wilderness, but they ain't the grizzlies I'm looking for.

Last I came here, a man I thought loved me
threw me into the bed of his truck. I was hogtied. He
said he liked my beard, then proceeded to lick
every inch of me clean with a tongue glazed with
acid. I still feel the burns. So next time you try

to drag me to "the best spot in town," know that your
little rugged gay utopia is my nightmare on the
weekends, when I finally try to get enough sleep
but the grunts and laughter from the steering wheel
of that beat-up Chevy pick-up in the August heat
don't let me dream anything romantic anymore.