Leandra Michaels

My father said to me once your only choices are the factories. Oil stains or

the selfsame bruises. No longings for the night. Looking back I think of

things I could have done differently ... Sure, it could have all been different,

but what’s the use now, when all I have are these cheap photographs—night after

night after night, headlining my Miss Gay Indiana 1991 sash.

Us here have always been proud people. My first show after my crowning

the crowd yelled, you crazy bitch! & I was a crazy beautiful bitch. The next song

started, & I showed them my wild all over again. Look ... there I am—sitting

on the laps of strange men, lips pressed hard into cheeks. Oh, everyone had a piece

of me. & that’s the hard lesson: sometimes when you make that choice—you end up with

nothing. Nothing but photos & this plum job. Nothing & the undertow of song.