Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

When I’d go out in public as a man,
I on the whole was quite invisible.
The world was silent on account of me,
holding its tongue out of disinterest, tact.

These days, I find, I am quite rather free
to compliment the women passersby,
who do not fear ornate hermaphrodites,
and so as often might return the grace.

Yet I can still be taken by surprise
by some odd man intent on stating facts
such as when—Faggot! (then a silent line)—
when I might wish him, “Have a lovely day!“

Or, take tonight, when some man in the park
had talked at length how much he’s unimpressed
to see me sport a skirt, perhaps a dress,
and then some boy my flag of doubt unfurled.

(Is it obscene to be thus seen? Perhaps.
He had a solid point—I do go, girl.)