Yellow

The man at the desk points to the pink bathroom door and asks Don’t you want that one? I shrug and say sure. A coworker says She and I answer. We play boys vs. girls in gym class and I wait in the middle of the court to see which direction the tide of students will pull me. My father warns that biology knows best and I nod. My physics teacher says he’s not sure he’s comfortable with that nickname so I never raise my hand. My mother tells me to be patient until college. I crawl under the covers for three years. I go out for dinner and take whatever the server brings me. A stranger stares at me on the train and I melt into the doors. My girlfriend mumbles that she wishes I’d just be normal. I stuff myself into the back of her closet. The traffic light turns yellow. Stays yellow. Always yellow. 


by Miles Walser

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Miles Walser is the author of the full-length collection of poetry What the Night Demands, released on Write Bloody Press in 2013. His work has appeared in literary journals Vinyl, Used Furniture Review, Radius, and The Bakery, as well as the audio podcast IndieFeed. He currently lives in Brooklyn, New York. For more information visit www.mileswalser.com.