A summer Sunday, shortly after Stonewall’s anniversary, in the 2020s
R.P. Singletary

Flu. Covid-19			A pox on us?
Headache. Sore throat. 	        Weak sounds.
I knew when I saw		those dates
I knew then			b. 193x - d. 198x
I knew when			I heard– 

Dared not speak its		name
That				thing
his				lifestyle?
our				opinions
by				president
or				people
even				family? 

What I didn’t yet		know
Was its				haunting, soothing
				caressing, daring

Of a maker’s complex music replayed in my head, viral
Of a one-word alleluia repeated, again again simple simple

			sung
			heard
			birthed.

All the others 			b.1945 (living)
In that summer		        b. 1939 (living)
Church bulletin:		b. 1950 (living)

But for the short life of mine
Not a single silly note of theirs
Singed my dry old throat’s wily hairs
To sing my righteous head heavy

Like the composer’s d. 	But dead or alive since ‘84? 
That creative spirit at daunting’s play
	again and again

And for the rest of my own days numbered,
	within my heart, on my tongue it forever tuning

R. P. Singletary is a lifelong writer across genres of fiction, poetry, and hybrid forms; a budding playwright; a member of the LGBTQ+ community; and a native of the rural southeastern United States, with recent fiction, poetry, and drama in Literally Stories, Litro, BULL, Cream Scene Carnival, Cowboy Jamboree, Rathalla Review, The Rumen, Mystery Tribune, Teleport, CafeLit, JONAH, Ancient Paths Christian Literary, EBB, Flora Fiction, Ariel Chart, Syncopation, Last Leaves, Stone of Madness, Written Tales, Wicked Gay Ways, Fresh Words, The Chamber, Wingless Dreamer, Screen Door Review, Microfiction Monday, mini plays, Pink Disco, Lost Lake Folk Opera, The Stray Branch, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Brief Wilderness, In Parentheses, The Taborian, Active Muse, Bending Genres, D.U.M.B.O. Press, and elsewhere.