The Pretentious Veneer Of Hypo-Allergenic Mystique

Joanna, having
opened a hole in
her bathroom wall with
hand-held powertools,
looked up at her wife
through a pearly white
smile, resembling a
Norman Rockwell print.

It was at this point
they both realized
that they'd accomplished,
as a collective
gay community,
something they'd never
dreamt of before: they
were now everywhere.

The sudden news flash
kicked Joanna straight
in the teeth. It's true!
Carol from the store,
Sarah in Med School,
the man behind the
Washington, D.C.
desk in the round room.

Rebellion becomes
conformity, and
their mystical world
of love making and
hypo-allergens
is nothing more than a
pretentous veneer
of normality.

For you see, if all
of creation is
doing it, then the
prideful parade is
as harmless and void
as Macy's Christmas.
So something brand new
must be in order.

Perhaps Joanna
can be a Marcie
to her loving wife's
Peppermint Pattie.
Sir? Yes, sir! Of course,
Sir! I love you, sir!
She wraps a lie 'round
her like a blanket.

In the end, they will
always have this house
to insulate them.
The faucet needs to
be installed. They'll think
about this later
over a burger,
when the time is right.