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@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; Now Look At That Kid You Have Called A Fairy ***
Sure, I will use your nicknames: Pull, Ramrod, and Motthead; the three of you I address,
Look at that fairy now. Still a little chubby around the edges,
still clunsy and awkward, still wearing glasses thicker than most, and
still reading poems---like this one. That auburn hair of his is more of a
moptop, at least on his head; then that narrow vertical path straight down---
old prudes (and even haters, like yourselves) may gasp at this detail---
straight down to that tuft of profuse, soft curls from which his flower blossoms.
Now look at him, embraced in the strong, agile arms of your high school's
varsity quarterback (I will use the appellations they prefer---PageTurner and
PassHurler); kissing with open mouths, tongues swirling around each other.
Their shoes and street clothes are strewn all over the floor; they are not naked
(not yet, but soon), but have put on baggy sweats and white, athletic socks.
I know you must find this disturbing. I hope I have not intruded upon you three.
Visiting hours are over; the final chime has sounded. Pull; Ramrod; and Motthead:
these names do not appear on your medical charts, although the hospital staff
sometimes address you as such. Crossed the wrong people, did you? Half the
starting football team (well that is what the rumor suggests anyhow), because
you three---thugs, marauders, and outright bullies---
insulted their Co-Captain and nearly assaulted his boyfriend.
Starward
