Today we present “Coming Out Poem”, by Fritz Wolf. You can find more of his poetry on his website.

Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/coming-out-poem-by-fritz-wolf

You’re

listening

to

Pride

Month

on

The

Voice

of

Dog.

This

is

Rob

MacWolf,

your

fellow

traveler,

and

Today

we

present “Coming

Out

Poem”,

by

Fritz Wolf.

You

can

find

more

of

his

poetry

on

his

website.

As

necessary as

coming

out

is,

as

intolerable

as

living

a

life

in

secret

is,

the

moment

itself

can

feel

insurmountable.

Those

of

us

who

have

experienced

the

moment

know

it,

those

who

have

not

yet

anticipate it.

It

will

not

be

news

to

say

that it

takes

courage,

because

whether

or

not

it

goes

well

is

entirely

in

the

hands

of

those

to

whom

we

come

out.

Please

enjoy


“Coming

Out

Poem”,

by

Fritz Wolf

Remember

that

yearbook

game

we

used

to

play

as

freshmen,
where you’d

flip

through

pages,

point

to a

random

picture

and

say

if

you’d do ’em?
If

we’d

point

to

a

girl

we’d

usually

say

something

about

her

tits,
say “Hell

yeah!”

and

turn

the

page.
If

we’d

point

to

another

guy,

we’d

just

laugh

about

it,
say “Hell

yeah!”

and

laugh

about

it

again.
But

I

cheated at

that

game,

I

always

picked

a

dude,
and

I

always

laughed

and

said, “Hell

yeah!”

It

didn’t

take

you

long,

oh

not

you

bunch.
Later

that

day

when

we

went

to

Krispy

Kreme
you

asked,

seriously

asked, “Are

you

gay?”

“Um…”

I

said, ‘cause

I

knew

this

was

coming,
I

planned

it,

I

knew

you’d

figure

it

out,

“Yeah.”

I

said,

and

froze in

that

instant
knowing

I

didn’t

think

this

through

well

enough,
knowing

that

I

should

have

changed

the

subject,
knowing

that

I’d

probably

just

done
one

of

the

stupidest

things

that

a 16-year-old

boy
who

lived

in

a

town

that

used

to

hold

the

world

record
for

most

churches

per

square

mile,

could

possibly

have

done.
What

had

I

done.

“Okay.”

You

said,

surprised

obviously,

but…

okay.
We

ate

the

doughnuts

in

relative

silence

until,
“How

long?”

“Eh,

about 6

inches,”

laughter

breaks

the

tension,
“But

really…

for

as

long

as

I

can

remember.”
I

didn’t

know

if

that

set

in

or

not.
You

dropped

me

off

and

I

didn’t

see

you

again

until we

hung

out

on

the

weekend.

We

called

ourselves “The

Posse”.
Dave,

Conor,

Pete,

Tosh,

and

I.
We

were

fucking

unbreakable,

fucking

immortal,
something

like

this

wouldn’t

come

between

us,

right?
Right?

See,

this

is

where

things

change.
No,

I

don’t

mean

The

Posse,

this

poem.
You’ve

heard

it

before,

coming

out

stories,
terrifying

ones

where

people
are

abandoned,

outcast,

disowned,
beaten,

abused,

raped,

murdered,
but

that’s

not

my

story.

This

poem

isn’t

for

the

gays

who

lost

their

homes,
their

families,

or

their

friends.
There’s

enough

poems

about

them
and

fuck,

they

need ’em

all.

This

poem

is

for

the

people

who

didn’t

forget.
This

poem

is

for

the

friends

who

still

hung

out

with

you

on

the

weekends.
This

poem

is

for

the

moms

that

joined

PFLAG,
for

the

dads

who

still

cared.
This

poem is

for

the

people

I’m

fucking

proud

of!
I’m

fucking

proud

of

them!

There’s

more

than

enough

evil

in

this

world
but

you,

you

showed

me

there’s

a

lot

of

kindness

too.
It’s

scary,

it’s

really

fucking

scary,
especially

being

a 16-year-old

boy
in

a

town

that

used

to

hold

the

world

record
for the

most

churches

per

square

mile,
but

you

guys,

you

rose

above

it.
The

stereotypes,

the

mean

jokes,
yeah sure

you

made

jokes

but

they

didn’t

hurt,
honestly

no,

they

didn’t,
“What

did

the

deer

say

when

he

left

the

gay

bar?
I

can’t

believe

I

just

blew 50

bucks

in

there!”
and

you

laughed,

and

I

laughed

too,
’cause

I

knew
you

still

had

my

back.

And

my

mom,

it

took

her

a

while,

but

she

came

around.
She

never

joined

PFLAG,

but

she

did

come

to

my

wedding.
My

dad

was

dead,

but

I

knew

him

well

enough

to

know
he

still

would

have

cared.

So

don’t

forget

the

people

that

didn’t

forget.
The

friends

who

still

hung

out

with

you

on

the

weekends,
the

moms

who

joined

PFLAG,
and

the

dads

who

still

cared.
Don’t

forget

the

people

you’re

fucking

proud

of,
Dave,

Conor,

Pete,

Tosh,
fucking

unbreakable,

fucking

immortal,
something

like

this

wouldn’t

come

between

us.


This

was “Coming

Out

Poem”

by

Fritz Wolf,

read for you by READER, with CALLSIGN. Happy Pride,

and

Thank

you

for

listening

to

The

Voice

of

Dog.