Stereotype

Shall we whisper to them, quite slyly, that we are not a stereotype?

No, let’s go to the rooftop and decorate it with loudspeakers.

You take one corner and I’ll take the other.

Let’s make this a celebration but invite no one.

 

You start first, you know I have stage fright.

I think I missed the point, didn’t I?

Alright, I’m ready.

I shall start with something light.

 

Do I tell them about how we met?

Or about the phone call that changed everything?

Oh wait, let me start with the warmth of your arm.

The left one, the one that goes numb with my leaning.

 

I could tell them about how hard we laugh at silly jokes.

But would they ask for an example?

I could tell them how you cared for my dying father.

Would they wipe a half-formed tear?

 

I could tell them your hug is firm.

Would their modesty look sideways?

I could tell them you read stories to me.

Would their yawning heads sway?

 

Let me ask you something.

Why are they so lazy to caress or kiss at the door?

Would it be mean to question,

Why can’t they hold on to each other to let go?

 

“Why should we bother?” You ask.

“They won’t understand unless it has a tune.”

Then, let’s dismantle the loudspeakers and drop the mics.

And let’s whisper to each other, quite slyly, that we are not a stereotype.

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