September, 1984.
The heat was like a ray-gun.
The Communists had much to fear:
His name was Ronald Reagan—
and so was mine in middle school,
throughout the mock debate.
The recreation hall was full
of democratic hate.
I ended all my thoughts with well,
declared my love for Nancy.
My stifling suit was poly-wool.
I sounded like a pansy.
But teachers didn’t seem to care
that Ronald Reagan looked
a little fey, and had some flair.
I wanted to be liked,
the boy who mowed the neighbors’ yards,
the new kid in Ocala—
while Mondale read his index cards,
I sipped a Coca Cola
that I had spiked with Mother’s gin,
and frowned, and shook my head.
Oh Walter, there you go again,
I smiled and vainly said.
I reenacted getting shot.
I threw benign grenades.
I covered up what I forgot.
I never mentioned AIDS.
From Proprietary (Persea Books, 2017) by Randall Mann. Copyright © 2017 by Randall Mann. Used with the permission of the publisher.