First, let me just say:
During the darkest moments of Election Week 2020, I spent a lot of time in the graveyard across the street from my house, invoking the ancestors. Kashmiri-American poet Agha Shahid Ali (1949-2001) is buried there. These delightful reminiscences from poet Steven Cordova on the Lambda Literary website show Ali’s gay side, as in both sexuality and playfulness. I apologize to his spirit for the poem I wrote this morning after visiting his grave. Please sponsor me to write even worse poems every day this month in support of the Center for New Americans.
Strap-On Ghazal
Diagnosis, girl: missing her own penis.
My body is the Tomb of the Unknown Penis.
Firmer than rims on a bright-blue pickup truck
The secret boast of the silicone penis.
The two genders: do you click on “Like” or “Block”
Surprise photo texted to your phone — penis.
Tip for the successful gardener:
Weekly T-shots fertilize a home-grown penis.
Cockiness the downfall of great men —
The teleconference disrupted by a shown penis.
Yet even Jacob raised his Ebenezer to the Lord,
Marking angelic throwdown with a stone penis.
And Earth herself thrusts up wood and mountain,
Exoskeleton and bone penis.
While I, Jendi, though my leg hair grows like fruited plains,
Must make do with ordered-from-Amazon penis.