Goin’ Dutch
“We were so lucky to have been raised
amongst catalogs.” It’s easier to cruise
the dope landscape of dapper mannequins
on the apps. Why deal with the poppycock
of going out to a bar when you can snack
on waffle cookies in bed instead, scrolling
the endless lineup of Bogarts, each profile pic
a still life, iceberg cool yet blistering hot:
posing on someone’s yacht slurping oysters
or boozing it up on a Brooklyn stoop. Pumped,
slim, tattooed, big caboose. Browse the onslaught
of kinks, decipher codewords for new drugs,
maybe block the quack with a drill in his holster.
Enjoy the wild roster. Be tickled, not triggered.
Learn to be blasé when someone unlocks
a portrait of his pickle. Pretend you didn’t see
your boss (also known as Plug My Dam).
Just trust that eventually you’re bound to dredge
from the morass of decoys the perfect geek
you’ve been hankering for—someone who plays
hooky from work to watch spooky movies,
grabbing your thigh whenever the score
suggests something nasty is about to happen,
your own little gimp who makes your id wiggle,
calling your bluff without making it smack,
the kind of guy who wakes saying Upsy Daisy,
who can convince you to pinky swear to secrecy
when he finally agrees to elope.
(Quote from Best in Show)
—————
The Radical Satisfaction of Being Called a Ho
Go on, say it. And not behind my back.
I want you to squirt it right in my face.
So my smirk can punctuate it for you.
Ho!
Who cares if it’s even accurate. I just want
to enjoy the radical satisfaction of being
called a ho. To judge you for judging me.
To pity you for denying yourself the freedom
of even considering being a ho. I just want
to do as I want. And do who I want. And
not care what anyone, especially a non-ho,
might think about it. Yeah, watch me sashay
my plump hairy ass in hot pants as if for
your gaze only, blushing as you grimace.
Thanks, hon! I’ll sing to you. Nonchalantly.
Without even a glance.
As if my ho-ness can’t even fathom a reason
for your disdain. Or it’s just too damn busy
having a fine ho time for your non-ho nastiness.
Though I will pray that reincarnation is real.
So you might return as a ho yourself. If only
to see what you’ve been missing.
—————
Michael Montlack has published two poetry collections and edited the Lambda Finalist essay anthology My Diva: 65 Gay Men on the Women Who Inspire Them (University of Wisconsin Press). His work has appeared in Poetry Daily, Prairie Schooner, North American Review, Cincinnati Review, Lit, Epoch, Alaska Quarterly Review, Phoebe, and other magazines. In 2022, his poem won the Saints & Sinners Poetry Contest for LGBTQIA+ poets. He lives in NYC and teaches poetry workshops at NYU and CUNY City College