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CRY JUSTICE FOR
PETER!
By Anonymous
“Wicked!” sneer the
narrow-minded Righteous.
“Queers!” hiss the smug,
thin-lipped Virtuous.
“Nay!” my heart
cries. “Tis love as deep and abiding, as
sweet and strong as any that enrich your
lives.”
Pitying their ignorance,
I draw close my friend and lover and move to pass them by. But it is not to be.
On this day, Noble Society
and Bigoted Religion extract a toll for flaunting their archaic
injunctions. And just as with women
stepping beyond accepted boundaries, and Black slaves chafing against heavy
chains, and First Nations fighting stubbornly for their ancestral homelands, we learn the cost
is exorbitant.
Cretins tear away my
beloved. Two odiferous toughs
pin my arms. A florid man of
dark, heavy jowls pummels bloody my lover.
Oh, how proud I am as Peter
shakes them off and stands tall and manly to face his tormentors. A foolish mistake, of course, but one born of
intrepid pride. Four barbarians beat him
unmercifully until the growing unease of passive onlookers give them pause.
Smaller, weaker, and
frankly not so valorous, I cannot fight my way free of those who hold me
helpless. Denied the consideration of
even one disdainful blow, I am shoved atop my fallen hero as they depart,
laughing crudely at the life-lesson taught the fags.
Sobbing myself into
paralysis, I watch helplessly as a precious, sensitive life ebbs away on the
hot, mean sidewalks of that accursed city.
And who will give me
justice for the horror of this cruel bereavement? Not the black-uniformed storm trooper who
laughs there is one less sissy to plague the world; not the dog-collared clergy
of the stately cathedral towering mutely above us across the street; and certainly
not a shocked and aroused citizenry wrathfully demanding equity.
For the first time, I
truly understand that dreadful credo of the old West: “The only good Indian is a dead Indian!” An epithet applicable to those without a
roseate hue—such as me and my love.
But beware! I am yet here, energized by my rage and
emboldened by my crushing loss, I live to plot retribution on the
hide-bound, sanctimonious fools who dare impose their morality--even to the
destruction of one superior to them all in every way that counts. And do not look down long, blue noses and
proclaim “Love it or leave it” to me.
For I am legion in your midst, claiming equal ownership of this, my
fatherland.
Yes, I am here to
stay. And in my own time, in my own way,
I will raise my voice and Cry Justice for Peter!
###
Perhaps the time has come for that voice and that cry. For
the life of me, I cannot see how the value of a human being can be discounted
simply because he or she is “different.”
This past Tuesday, a protestant church in Rio Rancho, New Mexico informed the scout troop they had been sponsoring it was no longer welcome because the Boy Scouts of America now accepts gays in its membership. How ironic that this action drives home the two points I want to make with this post. The action of these good Christians was sufficiently odious to be aired on prime-time news, reflecting the change in attitude of the general public. Yet their bigotry was pointed enough to give warning danger still lurks for gays.
Are we not all God's children?
Next week: Perhaps
the Shadow knows, but if he does, he hasn’t told me.
New posts are published at
6:00 a.m. each Thursday.
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