My name is Jerry
what’s yours?

I asked of the bus driver
who insisted on not caring
enough to unveil his cherished identity.

My friend Eduardo
calls me Geraldo
since learning my certificate says Gerald,
but my parents always called me Jerry
and called Gerald when not-Jerry
was in considerable trouble.

So how I am identified
seems to say something, you see,
about the identifier
looking back at me.

But when I look in my mirror
I still see Jerry
anciently looking back at Gerald,
Geraldo,
Faggot!
Queer!
Sissy?
Honey,
Dad,
and me.

My name is Jerry,
what’s your name for me?

But the bus went on without me
just as I had expected,
not heading in my direction.