One’s disturbed by stalled
career, talking louder than 
the man he is with.

Over coffee they
lament their need to avoid
the sad legless man.

Their narrative calls
unappreciated work
“The cause of my pains.”

One snaps his fingers —
Was it the O of my mouth
That brought his “Faggot!”?

Or did my face show
More disgust than it might if
I thought they would care?