Text
In the 70s few things
brought comfort:
a handheld yellow transistor
radio, Paul Lynde, Joanne Worley,
Donna Summer, the streets of Seattle.
I syphoned gas from cars
in Tacoma to get away weekends,
to find other queers, sex workers,
misfits, dyke aunties. We congregated
at Penney’s on Second and Pike,
(the first needle exchange site),
we watched out for each other,
turned tricks, slept in bath houses,
the doorman at The Golden Crown
disco, where Queens ruled, sometimes
let us in. Always boys on
Second, women on First—
pride infused—this was our:
Freedom. Risk.
Revolution. Liberation.
Survival.