Before and After

Before and After

the parade

was loud and a little obnoxious (don’t hate me)

(maybe everyone doesn’t love a parade)

we couldn’t find our group (where do we fit in anyway?)

(with this trans-questioning-ace-bi-family?)

dad shleps water for all and forgets hat

(a sunburn forms later, a reminder of the event)

aloe gunks up his hair for days

the parade

trucks gather and disperse,

(most have already left when we get there at the end)

do we get a hot dog?

(or is that too phallic, too full of chemical suggestions?)

the hot dog carts are empty anyway

(and so we head home)

silently, trying not to aggravate each other.

home

is where lunch is, and disappointments flair

(someone was hoping for their first pride kiss)

is where we take a nap

(an escape from all the dancing, and overstimulation)

we all fall down exhausted

(by the everything of it all)

pride oozes into the furniture and leaves a greasy unwashable stain.

home

is where the mirrors are

(reflecting a body they don’t recognize as theirs)

is where the shower is

(can you imagine hating your body so much you can’t even shower?)

we pick at the acne, longing for a smooth finish.

(hoping it will heal by the next day)

it comes and goes, the smooth skin, the pride, the longing

we try to accept what is, in this moment, and the next.