The first thing I notice
when I get there: the outfits
are not like any Halloween
costumes I’ve seen before.
Lots of men have thick beards
and hairy chests. A topless DJ
with a smooth chest and chiseled abs
plays a pounding music
I don’t recognize.
Most men look straight
through me or perhaps they don’t
see me on the dance floor
when they bump into me.
No one says sorry.
No one speaks to me.
No one smiles at me.
Someone runs their fingers
through my hair. Startled,
I turn around to see him.
“I love your costume,” he says.
“Sorry?” I reply, forgetting
what I might look like
in this sea of white.
“That’s a wig, isn’t it?
Your costume, you’re Bob Marley?”
Before my seminar the next day,
I tell Lennie about the club.
“What did you say to him?”
Lennie asks with a grin.
“I just walked away,” I reply.
