At the Music Festival

Hand in hand the lesbians in kneesocks
Stroll along the Coney Island boardwalk.
Pigtails, army bags, cool white skin,
Black rimmed glasses, arms too thin.
Out among us for the day.
Observing the crowd observing them,
Proving they’re not without what they think they’ve never been.
Compunction holds no right, no grace
For those who will not look them in the face.