Intersectionality
In the diagram, Bob
is a striped blue triangle.
Some people do not like Bob.
Down with stripes.
Down with triangles.
Bob is at the intersection of
stripey-ness and blue-ness,
of triangle-ness and Bob-ness.
Luckily there are liberation groups.
Here is where the model
starts to fail me: maybe liberation
has come in the form of four taxis,
each waiting to carry Bob away
from this intersection.
Bob should not have to choose
any one taxi.
Or maybe Bob does not
want to go? Bob has noticed
the quality of the bodega’s coffee.
Bob likes this intersection.
Bob can get a pretty good deal
on a one-bedroom.
Bob is a striped blue triangle.
Bob is a damn gentrifier
In 1995, I flunked a Driver’s Ed quiz
on intersections
because I could not model
how traffic proceeds at a four-way stop.
In my head, each car
arrived at the same time.
What happens when you yield
to the car on your right,
who yields to the car on his right,
who yields to the car on her right,
who yields to you?
No one goes anywhere.
The reality,
my teacher explained,
is someone always claims
the right of way.
Four allies in four cars
meet at a four-way stop,
you know the one,
it’s over by Bob’s bodega.
The car on my right yields,
the car on her right yields.
Do you mind?
We’re in a hurry.
You’re running late
for her doctor’s appointment.
What I call my disability
you call her disease:
treatable, Thank God.
So that’s your
daughter in the backseat?
She looks just like you.
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