Two Poems by Eric Tran

Larry Craig

Larry did it all wrong,

tapped his foot

all the wrong ways. I see all

these down-low fuckers,

these wallstreet fratboys,

religious government

faggots running

into my stalls,

but they don’t know

the system. You tap once

for vanilla under the stall,

twice if you want your balls

tickled, six times for docking

foreskin. Fucking Larry

pulls into the stall

two down from me

and taps blindly

like a fat ballerina.

Listen, baby, I see all these types

running from the wives and jobs

they never wanted.

They don’t know how

to take care of themselves.

Back when the police raided

our bars, we fags tapped

to one another. Tapping

four times then three times meant

danger, zip it up. 

And Larry, poor Larry,

taps twice then, nervous bastard,

four times then twice again,

stall talk for get me 

the hell out of here—

so the old queen next to him

zipped up his dusty cock,

took pity on Larry

and told the police

to get him out.

Out of the stall,

the airport, his job,

his marriage, his meaningless

sham life. You should thank him,

Larry baby—‘cause now you’re free.

***

A Decade after Mark Foleys

I too was seduced

by Mark Foley,

saved our e-mails

and midnight chats.

At thirteen, I waited

for him in my black

room, hidden from my parents,

—waited for men like him

to come to me,

tell me that being

gay was not a sin

or a life sentence.

That I trailed them,

begged them again,

Tell me, how can I

   still be beautiful?

Begged them to show me a life,

that never seemed possible.

How can I convince you

it was not a raptus?

It was Ganymede

pulling on Zeus’s

feathers, crying to go

higher.

Please, higher.

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Eric Tran is an MFA candidate at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington. He is from the San Francisco Bay Area.