Faggot with Flowers
By H. Melt
In the summertime
I walk to the farmers market
on my lunch break from work
most of the vendors are queer
selling tomatoes and peaches
empanadas, cider and curds
I spy brain flowers, which my mom
occasionally bought, though
she favored gladiolas
I debate whether or not
to buy flowers, they’re
not food, a bit of a luxury
as I walk back to work
proudly holding
my cockscombs
a grey pickup truck blows
a stop sign, presses
the gas in my path
he cracks the window
to yell faggot at me
missing my body
I go home and place
my flowers in water
on the kitchen table
trying to forget
what will die
in a few days
time.
“Faggot with Flowers” by H. Melt is from “On My Way to Liberation,” used with permission of Haymarket Books
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