Anime Boston

for Monica

I can hear their disdain clattering behind me;
it is the clattering disdain of people who have
never been picked last for anything, have no
idea what otherness feels like. Snickering
ricochets off the glass ceilings and marbled
floors – crescendoing, crashing – paroxysms
of unconcealed derision far uglier than any

getup these kids are wearing. Knots of kids
congregate outside of Michael Kors. They’re
squealing in recognition and appreciation and
I want to think these girls behind me just feel
threatened today because they are clearly in
the minority, even if it’s just for today, just for
this weekend. They won’t let up. And I want

to face them & say: “It really doesn’t take that
much effort to be kind. But if that’s too much
for you, it takes even less effort to just keep
your mouth shut, and to let all these kids be
rock stars this weekend. The rest of the year
is all yours, so just lay off, ladies, all right?”
But the kids don’t need my protection; they

are bedecked in fuzzy ears, gossamer wings
and neon wigs and they are joyful, ecstatic
to the point where no scorn can reach them.

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