We are the next generation. We missed the eighties by an inch. Grew up with AIDS Another threat to a threatened existence. But we missed the horror Of watching friends die mysteriously Then less mysteriously Wasted by disease Three lettered death With nothing to do but watch. We grew up With the Triple-Cocktail And a grey cloud over our heads But a chance in a bottle. From the walking dead To the walking wounded. A life sentence But a prolonged one. Our high school textbooks Gave a page Or a line To Stonewall. An event for the history books And one we were too young to have marched for. We’ve born witness To Matthew Sheppard And seen Hilary Swank accept an Oscar For a movie that involved More than a limp wrist And a joke at the character’s expense Thought he still died In the end. Good thing he wasn’t black As well as gay Or he’d have been dead in the first ten minutes And there’d of been no movie. Suddenly we’re all the rage. Ellen has a talk show Much-loved by middle-aged house wives. We’re the hottest new fashion accessory. And the Fab Five Are taking the unstylish by storm To rave reviews. Funny thing But some of the same people who love us (when we’re up on that silver screen) Hate us Or fear us And Say We’re Going Straight (pun un-intended) to Hell. But we’re doing it half in Manolo Blahniks And half-in toasty plaid. And we don’t give a f*ck.