Piérre Ramon Thomas

The Pageant

by Piérre Ramon Thomas

(A Fable)

They lined us all up in four rows of twenty-five.
There I stood, a contestant,
About to be judged on the beauty of my face among a host of
Stunningly
Gorgeous
Men.
Standing beside me were the likes of:
Adam Rippon,
Jason Carter,
Keiynan Lonsdale,
And Bretman Rock.
Each one of them stepped forward as the judges held up numbered cards;
The audience roared, cheering for their favorite,
Shaking the auditorium.
When I stepped forward, the judges, unimpressed,
Each held up a card with a zero.
The cricket in the audience was the only one who cheered for me.

Still, I kept my head held high
And my smile did not falter.

They lined us all up in four rows of twenty-five.
There I stood, a contestant,
About to be judged on the musculature of my body among a line-up of
Perfectly
Chiseled
Beefcakes.
Standing beside me were the likes of:
Jason Momoa,
Joe Manganiello,
Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson,
And Michael B. Jordan.
Each one of them stepped forward as the judges held up numbered cards;
The audience whooped and hollered for their favorite
Losing their sanity.
When I stepped forward, the judges, rolling their eyes,
Each held up a card with a zero.
The cricket in the crowd was the only one who whooped and hollered for me.

Still, I kept my head held high
And my smile did not falter.

They lined us all up in four rows of twenty-five.
There I stood, a contestant,
About to be judged on my overall style and fashion among a mob of
Avant-garde,
Chic
Fashion Icons.
Walking the catwalk with me were the likes of:
Neil Patrick Harris,
Tim Gunn,
André Leon Talley,
And Colman Domingo.
Each one of them walked the runway while the judges held up numbered cards;
The audience clapped, oohing and aahing at each outfit,
Sounding like a choir.
When I walked the runway, the judges, pursing their lips,
Each help up a card with a zero.
The cricket was the only one in the room who oohed and aahed at me.

Still, I kept my head held high
And my smile did not falter.

They lined us all up in four rows of twenty-five.
There I stood, a contestant,
About to be judged on the skill of my poetry among a roster of
Heavyweight
Writing
Juggernauts.
Standing beside me were the likes of:
Ocean Vuong,
Rudy Francisco,
Sabrina Benaim,
And Danez Smith.
Each one of them recited poems and afterwards, the judges held up numbered cards;
The audience wolf-whistled, rooting for their favorite
Filling the corners of the auditorium with their noise.
When I finished my recitations, the judges, faces deadpanned,
Each held up a card with a zero.
The cricket, unable to wolf-whistle, chirped his loudest for me.

Still, I kept my head held high,
And my smile did not falter.

At the end of the pageant,
Each Beautiful Boy was given a bouquet of freshly cut red roses,
Each Muscle Man was awarded a sash around his shoulder,
Each Style Icon was honored with a glass trophy,
Each Skillful Poet was decorated with medals placed over their necks,
All except me.

Backstage,
I genuinely congratulated each contestant, shaking their hands.

Still, I kept my head held high
And my smile did not falter.

To my surprise,
The cricket found me afterwards
And gave me a plucked petal from a red rose.
He said, “If only I could carry more,
I would’ve brought you a bouquet’s worth.”
I bent down, scooped him up,
And placed him on my shoulder.
He leaned over and whispered to me,
“Even if no one on this Earth
Loves you,
Appreciates you,
Or cheers for you,
Do so for yourself.”
As tears skated down my cheeks,
I could do nothing but respond with a smile.

I kept my head held high
And my smile did not falter.