my trash

You said, "It's hard because I’m not a passing trans."  

"Wow," I lied so quickly,  

"I didn’t know until you said."  

Why did I lie?  

Maybe because we’re in Alabama,  

Or because the truth didn’t seem to matter  

In our twice-a-week, five-minute meetings,  

As you empty my trash and I make small talk—  

Avoiding your eyes while you dump  

My empty cans of tuna and Diet Coke.

You come for my trash—

Why should I pile on more?

Maybe I lied because, just a moment ago,  

You said your hair hasn’t been right  

Since your grandmother died,  

And for a second,  

I second-guessed myself.