Saturday, April 19th by Stephanie Leone
For the same reasons we’d never be
caught dead in a taxi, black’s
the only color of our shirts that morning,
all suburbia & calm & Brooklyn.
On the way to a diner, our fingers
lace, their fit significant, & We
are valid like people who only smile
or nod, despite your Mohawk & my sex-smeared eyes.
We’re seated easily. This is
too easy! So loose & plausible
& average! Drama-free coffee
that, hot & next to you, smells
like the trees from my childhood home.
You pay for my vegan pancakes,
& we leave, ready to try
unearthing Higher Truths
in punk costumes on a Saturday
that just wants us to be happy.