To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Shane Allison's previous piece To Shane Allison's next piece
Lush Life Mama doesn't know about the feather boas or dreams of stepping in snake skin stiletto heels. She doesn't know I'm a heart breaking homo some sugar daddy's lover in a public park after dark. I'm a lipstick queen with a dick for a brain. She doesn't know I was six years old when a boy kissed me in a first grade bathroom. She doesn't know about the underwear I've seen or the magazines tucked beneath my mattress. She has no idea of the shafts that have circled the tip of my lips, tongues that have committed to love me slither into the mouths of wives, tearing out their eyes with lies. Honey I love you. Mama doesn't about the fuck buddy in a bathroom of a recreational park. The blowjobs in apartments of guys who never give out their last name, who never offered me anything to drink but instead pushed my head into their denim laps, who came in my mouth and I nearly puked my breakfast on their alligator shoes that poked from beneath a turquoise stall. She doesn't know about the men who have peeled off my pants, men with tongues like swords that circle my belly button, that explore the remnants of a black man's ass. Mama doesn't know about the toll-free calls to a health clinic, the twenty dollars I forked out for an HIV test, the blood from veins to a nurse's needle. She doesn't know about the agony of waiting 2 weeks for the results. Weigh the what if's like grapefruit. What if I have AIDS? What do I tell my parents? Who's to blame? What was his name? I can't remember the number he left on the wall of a convenience store bathroom. Mama doesn't know about the men who jerked me off in front of urinals in a shopping mall on Saturdays when I was only seventeen. Or the naked Cuban in the front seat of a forest green Ford until the windows fogged from body heat. She thinks karate kicks are fluttering in my eyes at a Jackie Chan movie. I'm every mother's son, who longs for lipstick, who wishes for wonder bras from Victoria's secret. Someday I'll explain it all to her Ten thousand miles away in a 16 page letter or tell her on the phone 3 in the morning when she hardly knows her name.
To the top of this page