On the Megabus from DC back to New York, 7:00AM
Newly conscious in Union City,
that so-Jersey place with all-Spanish signage
my parents grew up in and around.
We drive by a huge blue-logoed highwayside gym
that used to be a Toys R Us.
My brother and I often begged to go
when we still lived nearby. That spot
housed all our dreams.
Here my eyes clock
the person next to me’s left knee against my right one,
of our mutual rest.
How rare to feel cozy with a man neither friend nor fuck,
face half-viewable, stubbly, his skin a few shades lighter
than mine, a small, thick left hoop earring
I think is diamond.
I imagine his mother wears
or wore similar ones,
that he respects women.
I imagine we are two brown queers sharing this row.
How we might otherwise have met awake
at Papi Juice
Bubble T or some other
Brooklyn brown queer party.
Man and his are, of course, projections
much huger than the rest;
also can’t recall if I saw them wearing two earrings
when they first sat beside me in DC,
or which ear is the gay ear. Still asleep, their legs shift away
and our babe slips down the gap.