Other Fugitives and Other Strangers
The nightclub’s neon light glows red with anxiety
 as I wait on the turning lane. Cars blur past,
 their headlights white as charcoal.
 I trust each driver not to swerve. I trust each stranger
 not to kill me and let me cross
 the shadow of his smoky path.
 Trust is all I have for patrons at the bar:
 one man offers me a line, one man buys the kamikaze,
 another drinks it. Yet another wraps his arm
 around my waist. I trust him not to harm my body
 as much as he expects his body to remain unharmed.
 One man asks me to the dance floor, one asks me
 to a second drink, another asks me home.
 I dance, I drink, I follow.
 I can trust a man without clothes.
 Naked he conceals no weapons, no threat
 but the blood in his erection. His bed unfamiliar,
 only temporarily. Pillows without loyalty
 absorb the weight of any man, betray
 the scent of the men who came before.
 I trust a stranger’s tongue to tell me
 nothing valuable. It makes no promises
 of truth or lies, it doesn’t swear commitments.
 The stranger’s hands take their time exploring.
 Undisguised, they do not turn to claws or pretend
 artistic skill to draw configurations on my flesh. They
 are only human hands with fingertips
 unsentimental with discoveries, without nostalgia
 for what they leave behind. I trust this stranger
 not to stay inside me once he enters me.
 I trust him to release me from the blame
 of pleasure. The pain I exit with no greater
 than the loneliness that takes me to the bar.
 He says good night, I give him back
 those words, taking nothing with me that is his.
 The front door shuts behind me, the gravel
 driveway ushers me away. The rearview mirror
 loses sight of threshold, house, sidewalk, street.
 Driving by the nightclub I pass a car
 impatient on the turning lane. My hands are cold
 and itch to swerve the wheel, to brand
 his fender with the fury of my headlights.
 But I let this stranger live
 to struggle through the heat and sweat
 of false affections, anonymous and
 borrowed like the glass that washed my prints
 to hold another patron’s drink.
Copyright Credit: Rigoberto Gonzalez, “Other Fugitives and Other Strangers” from Other Fugitives and Other Strangers. Copyright © 2006 by Rigoberto Gonzalez. Reprinted by permission of Tupelo Press.
Source: Other Fugitives and Other Strangers (Tupelo Press, 2006)


