It was just another Monday, in Provincetown, the time maybe 5:04 pm to be exact. The town, usually bustling with tons of visitors was a bit subdued, but still buoyant and bewildering, no matter how maddening the Pandemic. Everyone was wearing a mask, no theme week (Provincetown usually has weeks filled with certain demographics in mind, like Bear Week, Women of Color Week, Family Week, Twink Week, and of course Carnival, which is an entire 7-day excursion celebrating LGBTQ Pride), but glorious and fabulous is normal for Provincetown, so even masked, the array and selection of PPE’s were all glitter and rhinestone! The crowds still gathered, aware of the social distancing necessary, knowing that acknowledging science and medicine did indeed make you a better Patriot, and any clusters of people, were family groups, both of the hetero and homosexual content!
Joe and I both are working in Provincetown, he the manager of a gym and me a hotel manager, so, we spend our days in Provincetown, and find respite and comfort in our forever abode which we nicknamed Shady Pines, in North Truro. We have the best of the kind of worlds we prefer in which to dwell, a place of sheer imagination, Provincetown, and a village of rustic, wooded, peace and calm, North Truro. In the mayhem, which is a country I call home, America, in spite of a murderous, maniacal monster filled with the sickness of sociopathic syphilis, and putrid psychosis flowing freely through his veins, Joe and I push forward, ACT UP, remain LOUD, and protest the devastation and determination of a despot destroying democracy (TRUMP) upon which he and his enablers thrive and can only count on to remain out of jail; my husband and I seek this sanctuary!
On my way back to my car, after work, I stopped, stuck in my tracks, thinking I heard a voice, a squeaky sound, in need of an oil can perhaps or at least WD-40, saying “I am free, I am free!” I looked around past the cacophony of the panoply of people and there it was a mailbox, not tethered, chained, handcuffed, or threatened, but just FREE and AVAILABLE, and so American, I wanted to sing God Bless America! I asked if it was safe to take a photo and the mailbox seemed to exhale and puff itself up and said YOU BETCHA, and I swear I saw a middle finger arise from its metal frame and I know I heard it say FUCK YOU AND FLYING MONKEYS…TRUMP!
