“2098,” a Poem by Holly Eva Allen

When men envision the future,
polyester-clad chest over wrought-iron frame echoing
like the long, hollow hold of a wooden boat,
they see
little ray guns, shiny,
all chrome and lime green
shooting itty-bitty fireflies into the open air.

They see the Jetsons-pastiche of
a candy-apple red hovercar blazing
through the sticky tar-black backdrop of night.
A chorus of Tralfamadorians sing
Ave Maria.

When men envision the future,
in those candid paperbacks teeming with
big numbers and weighty theories,
you don’t see queers clad like
Neil Armstrong.
You don’t see hardworking women carrying
manila envelopes pregnant with
merit.

What a glorious future we have
to look forward to
in these visions of men.

Holly Eva Allen is a queer writer currently living in California. She has a degree in English from the University of California. Her work has been previously published in magazines and sites such as Funicular, Blue Unicorn, Sand Hills, and The Slanted House. She is currently working on an M.A. in English at Claremont Graduate University. You can find her work at hollyevaallen.wordpress.com.