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1 poem

by antmen pimentel mendoza

antmen pimentel mendoza (he, him, his & she, her, hers) is a scorpio, bakla, and writer. antmen is based in Huichin Ohlone Land (the San Francisco Bay Area) where he talks about pop music nearly all day and plays with friends.

The Gay Dads in the Milk Ad That Tells Me to “Love What’s Real” Consider a Gay Divorce


I am not saying I regret having the kid—I would never say that—

what I mean to say is anything true or funny, at least. Love to love you,


brown eyes on a Sunday morning with maple syrup, a beaten egg,

a loose batter. Later that night, we send Willow up to brush her teeth,


we read her Ferdinand again, we don’t teach her bad words: “civil war” or “oxymoron”

or “casualty.” Watching CNN, you ask me: “How long does a volcano have to be dormant

before it’s dead?” An hour later, I read Isherwood in bed again when you snake in

from the two car garage, swallow me in a kiss with your bong ripped open wide


whale shark mouth. What I mean to say is I do miss a bear night

at Steamworks and I regret that on most days.



After we watch a Netflix doc on the meat and dairy industry, I pick up soy milk

from Whole Foods but Willow doesn’t like the filmy way it goes down.

Milk mustachioed Tony Hawk and milk mustachioed Britney Spears

on gender appropriate posters in the halls leading to gym class locker rooms


and the food pyramid are totally corporate scams. Can you believe that?

I saw a headline that claims California is in shambles


because of the demand for almond milk, but the sugar in oat milk hurts my tummy.

On Recon, I told you I was a sub because I keep such tight coil control


in my waking hours that the prospect of slumber-fading into you

throat-first was a liberation; that there was no molasses or preserve as sweet


as the release it is to be nothing before you enter me, until I sheath you.

Then you took me on our first date then another.

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