‘OK, let’s get a black poet out there. No, wait: been there, done that…’


The 1993 and 2009 poets were both black, or at least black-ish. In any case, the black thing is kind of passé, what with a black president and all. America’s future belongs to the Hispanics—didn’t the vice president tell us so? The poet should be Hispanic, then. And oh, those black-ish poets were both gyno-Americans, so this one better be a male, a Hispanic male.

We’re not there yet, though. We need to pack a little more diversity into our choice. Hispanic is OK, but male? Yeccchh! Wait—how about a gay Hispanic male—a twofer? That’s the ticket! We got any gay Hispanic male poets? Send emissaries to the four corners of the land!

(Just a quibble here. Why, when we’re told that some bloke is homosexual, are we not told what kind of homosexual he is? I mean, you know, pitcher or catcher, giver or taker, bugger-er or bugger-ee, fudge-tamper or mattress-muncher? If we know from the subject’s testimony or from observation of his dating habits that a man is straight, then we know who’s doing what to whom. Why should we not be vouchsafed the same level of information on homosexuals? Although if I have been correctly informed that the gripe heard most often around gay bars is: “A hundred bottoms looking for a top,” then the issue may be moot. End of quibble.)

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