BY Kami Enzie
Note: “GLANCES / MEN” is erased and modified text from "Sunday, 2/6" ads in
the "Glances" section of the Feb. 11, 1994 issue of the Washington Blade, page 102.
Only in the following year would contracting HIV cease to mean certain death. It
became a merely chronic condition for those with reliable access to the first
antiretroviral drugs approved by the FDA.
________________________________________________________________________________________
GLANCES / MEN 1994
BALD GUY at________, 9/29. You: about 5’9”, slender, cleanshaven,
w/ a bearded man. You left before I could say hello. Would like to meet you.
__________________ Sun 10/30, 9am. You: prof look, bald on top, jeans, running
shoes. Me: military haircut, jeans, discreet glances. Dinner?
_________ BOOKS, THURS, 12/3, 9pm (ish). You: faded cut, red sweatshirt/ sweater
under jacket. Me: brown leather jacket, black baseball cap. I cam in looking for a
book, saw you & forgot the book. Pardon me for staring. Dinner or coffee?
SUNDAY, 1/6, _________ Street, 1:30pm. Me: blue jeans, leather jacket, purple
baseball hat. You: medium height, short bl hair, jean jacket. I followed you a few
blks. You followed me a few blks. I stopped at _________. You kept walking &
looking back. How ‘bout dinner?
_________, SATURDAY, 3/5 We both went to _________ then got on the 9 train. I lost
you at _________. You: black jeans, purple shirt, black cap. Me: black jeans, white
jacket, glasses. We stared; I wish we had talked.
FLIGHT 7179 from _________ to _________ on 3/27. I think your name is Leon. You
sat in row 11 & I’ve seen you twice since. How about a date?
_________ SUBWAY, 4/6, around noon. You: California sweatshirt w/ F friend. Me:
black sweatpants & blue baseball hat. I waved back at your friend. Can we meet?
__________________, Sat 6/5, 4pm, & a short wile later at the corner of _________
& _________. You wore brown coat, I wore black. You used to live on _________
St, I lived at the corner. After all these years of glances, would you like to have
dinner?
JEEP CHEROKEE, 530 blk _________ Ave, 7/3, 1pm. We exchanged glances as we
crossed _________ Ave. I went to Thai restaurant w/ woman, you went to antique
shop. Coffee?
WOLF TATTOO Hot! _________, 8/5. You: no shirt, leather jacket, w/a friend. My F
friend & I watched you all evening. We were both wearing vests. We’d like to see
more.
Kami Enzie (he/him), a Vienna-born, New Orleans–raised queer Black writer, is a recent Iowa MFA grad and winner of the poetry contest for the Tennessee Williams & New Orleans Literary Festival. Work appears inChicago Review, Common Place, fourteen poems,andThe Poetry Review. (IG/X: @yungwerther)