What if we got a gun? I whispered
from my pillow to you on yours.
I’m so against it in theory, I continued,
but in practice, & these days …
                        Then I burst, became
a wave of laughter, & you joined me.
We were a tidal giggle. & then I felt a huge
wobble, some cosmic shudders, perhaps from
a god with skin problems
unresolved from adolescence.
Unreleased from adolescence,
childhood, I saw how I was spiritually
still in uncomfortable overalls & overall over
none of it.
             You too, it seemed, as what you
then said was, What if
I became a bodybuilder? You said,
you spoke this to me
at normal volume like it was regular info,
like we were at Planet Fitness or in Galaxy
Muscle, not in our bedroom, our bed.
What if, you said, I bodybuilt so good,
so Arnold, to the point of the world turning
totally unhomophobic? Not
a speck of homophobia left, not one
subatomic particle a miserable
homophobe, the whole damn globe,
amazing, right?
             & I said, Or I could become a stronger
writer, more cutting
in my musings, more ferocious
in my music?
In bed, in response, you looked at me
fondly, probably the fondest
you’ve ever looked at me, & said, Baby.
You will. But how about we do both?

Both? I asked. Writing & bodybuilding?
Writing, you said, & the gun.