Madness in March

Madness in March

They laughed at the idea of my son being murdered.

Dressed in the obnoxious colors of their favorite 

team, they stuffed their matching mustached 

mouths with marinara and mozzarella 

and they laughed.

Guess you better not pull out the pink chiffon, Man!

No platforms for you, Mister! 

Who goes to Tennessee anyway?

Over ice-cold beers in air-conditioned 

comfort, they laughed at the idea of my son,

beautiful of face and soul, being imprisoned, 

or worse, killed, because he wears make-up, 

because he occasionally wears a dress, 

because he looks great in heels,

because he is different. 

They laughed at the idea of

silly, trite, laws against clothes.

As if these laws are not real. 

As if they don't affect real people.

People they know. 

People they say they love. 

These men with white skin and white names. 

With sports cars and wives and pensions. 

These privileged, terminally-degreed men.

I watched them high five over hot wings. 

The roaring river of my own rising blood pressure 

drowning out the noise of playoff pandemonium. 

I struggled to breathe. Choking on the truth:

These men are leaders and teachers. 

These men are husbands and fathers.

These men are my friends. 

They are related to me by blood.

They are married to people I love. 

And they are laughing. 

These medieval, middle-aged monsters found 

humor in the face of my child's discrimination, 

mirth in the denial of his existence. 

They laughed and through a veil of red, hot anger

I saw my son as a boy, blissfully spinning

in his sister's dress, the birth of a rare and radiant star. 

They ordered another round and I seethed. 

My teeth nearly touching despite my tongue between them. 

What is so fucking funny? 

I silently watched as these entitled, satisfied men, who summer in Europe

but complain about raising the minimum wage, screamed obscenities

at the screen. 

What If you were threatened with imprisonment, with death, 

because you choose to wear that goddamn mustache?? 

I wordlessly observed these pillars of patriotism and the patriarchy,

who do their best to avoid taxes and ignore No Parking signs, harass 

our female server. 

Would that be funny??

The taste of blood reminds me of my tongue, which I can no longer hold 

and I ask, as I hope you would, too: 

Do you think really think it's fucking funny to laugh at a law that endangers my child?

His liberty?? His life?!

These men, whose lives were fraught with good luck and prospect, 

who have never felt the weight of oppression or the sting of 

discrimination, stared at me. Speechless for the first time since tip off. 

Then........they laughed. 

Jesus, we're just joking. 

Faced with an opportunity to confront prejudice, 

to condemn violence, to challenge hate, 

these 'men' chose ignorance and immaturity. 

They chose to ignore reality. 

They fucking laughed. 

And it is madness.