The men at the sex shop

adore my dog. Sometimes

on our walks I’ll take my shirt

off hoping they are smoking

on the patio in their leathers

next to the rainbow flags.

 

Is it so wrong to feel wanted?

 

After working the bar,

in that space between,

I take the dog out to pee,

and see men wearing hoodies

coming and going

from their parking lot.

 

I know about the gloryhole

in the back. I can see it from the alley.

 

A year ago, I dreamed about dying

in a dirt field in West Texas.

Near train tracks. Sagebrush.

 

Now, it is dark.

 

Two men embrace

out on the sidewalk,

then go in separate directions.

 

I want to stop them and ask

to be embraced, too.