Pout - A Poem

Pout

Something has happened to my lips.

Before the Change, I had a nice smile, and I liked to use it –

charming, cheeky, sometimes a little sly.

I look over old photos, and see myself,

looking out at me,

and there is my smile.

My old smile.

Benign, friendly, open.

Guileless.

Now, without my willing,

like Dr. Strangelove’s sexy cousin,

the flesh in my face

contorts to strange new shapes,

lips leering out

like two red pepper slices,

eyebrows raised, mouth corner creeping up,

until, without a doubt, a fabulous pout beams out,

nuclear power in a look,

a danger to the world.

I like it.

Fucking Faggots

“Get in the car you fucking fag!” A large cab had just pulled up as I waited at a bus stop outside the London club in which I had been dancing. It was filled with drunken men, and I didn’t get the impression they were inviting me to join them in a 6-way. I looked up from my phone, raised my eyebrows in astonishment, and caught the eye of the man who had yelled. “Not you! My friend!” He pointed to the man standing next to me, who was now stumbling toward the cab’s open door. “You do look like a fag though”. And they drove away.