Finally, one night in Chicago,

quite unexpectedly, I understood.

I’ve been out since my late teens,

but it took two women, over three

decades later, to enlighten me.  I was

having dinner at a Thai restaurant

with my colleague Lisa Fishman

and Jennifer Moxley, who’d flown

from Maine to give a poetry reading

at Columbia College.  I forget

the context, but at some point

in the conversation I said, “I’ve

never understood why straight

men hate homosexuals so much.”

Both women, facing me across

the table, looked mildly surprised.

As if it were no mystery to them.

“Well,” said Lisa, “in their eyes

one of the men would have to be

the woman.”  It wasn’t enough

to make the lightbulb go off.  So

Jennifer added, pointedly, “And

nothing could be worse than that.”