Two stories inter-mingled. To You (you know who you are)

My mother made me store up
copper coins for wedding shoes –
at three years old I told her then:
“I won’t need those when I don’t want a husband!”
She said: “You’re too young to understand,”
and with a condescending look of pity off she went.

I grew in size, grew round in places too
and caught the eyes of those I didn’t want
but went unnoticed by the ones I’d like to know –
when mother asked: “Are you in love?” I would deny:
“No boy has caught my eye,” (and it was true)
and thinking of the girl I liked I went.

Yes, this one girl I really liked; I brought her home as guest,
presented her to mother as my “friend”,
and halfway through the conversation mother then complained:
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend yet?”
My girlfriend laughed and went.

And then the day came when I went to see my mom
dressed in my very best suit, necktie, shirt,
desiring now at last to tell her who I was, but home
she greeted me with: “You look like a dyke!”
and with a look that’s half of pity, half of pain
each tore the other from her heart
and from her doorstep finally I went.

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