Corn Field
by: Billy Collins
Far from any lake,
I walk in over my head.
I worked today at our local Pride Fest, handing out flyers, talking about the library's concerts and summer reading programs. I was not far from any lake. In fact, our table was only 50 or so feet from Lake Superior.
The sun was bright, and everyone was having a blast. I love being at Pride Fest for one simple reason: there is so much love abundantly present. Old people. Teens. Toddlers. Drag queens. Trans people. Heterosexual couples. Gay couples. I think I saw a German Shepherd in a tutu. All happy being together, listening to music, eating tacos, collecting free shit from vendor booths--without encountering sidelong glances or whispers or worse.
And the young people led the charge in this love parade. They always do, not caring if their friends are goth, studded with piercings, sleeved with tattoos, wearing a dress or tuxedo or fishnets. They just throw their arms around each other like classmates at a 60th reunion. Joyfully. Without inhibition.
People can say what they want about the younger generation being lazy (no, they just want a living wage), entitled (is it too much to get an education and healthcare without having to sell a kidney?), liberal (when did being generous and open-minded become a negative character trait?), and immoral (I assume because they don't judge or condemn other people).
The young people whom Saint Marty saw, met, and spoke with today gave him great hope for the future.
Pride
by: Martin Achatz
Surrounded by flags
of so many colors, here
is what makes me proud:
an old man and woman
walking hand in hand,
eating cookies, wearing
matching T-shirts that read
Love is Love, Ya Fuckin' Homophobe!
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