pre(d)election

philadelphia on the other line

shallow voice in an extended stay

drunk union organizer

longing for another man’s honest touch 

for years. i’ve seen it when 

drunk again he lets his hair be touched,

the loose unravelling of desire, 

the power in his voice, his sharp eyes softening,

the short string of apologies,

need ignored by hard hands and cocks

for years. oh

to be a gay man in a straight city--

to spend your nights on grindr,

and your days with housekeepers

with your feelings in your pocket

and them grabbing for a pen.

tomorrow he knocks on doors in a pandemic

trailed by a host of unwilling canvassers.

he who yes wants to defeat fascism,

but also just wants to be held.

i have seen him on the picket line,

and in the union hall on a war path, 

but never so brave i think 

as him asking on the other end of the line

“will you call me sometimes, or if i don’t pick up,

leave a message so i know someone wants me?”