I live with one man and three cats. Wait—we have many plants here too. I am thinking about winter and the annuals that won’t be returning. My parents, in their 80s, live walking distance from us. My family is present. Family: I’m sinking—but some people, plants, and animals prevent drowning.

Some neighbors may not see us as a family. We can’t get married in Pennsylvania, the keystone state—the key into stone. If we could, we might choose not to get married. Despite legal whims, we will be a family. No judge will call any of our cats to testify. Fair trials aren’t in style when it comes to gay people.

Been told this—families are about procreation. You fuck. A child pops out. A school appears. The kid leaves home. Christmas cards and texting. This is a family? It sounds like a launching pad into a schedule, a do-list. Jack Blanchard and Misty Morgan had a country music hit in 1971 called “There Must Be More To Life (Than Growing Old). Maybe they are right. Family is more to life. But families grow old too. Stan. Three cats. Coneflowers and a passion flower vine.

I am the enemy. Families “have to” be hetero. Like a title that is handed down from a king to a prince. The have to died in a fire. I am. The enemy. But not I am. We are. My family is the enemy. Stan’s nephew said he hates his English class—English is “so gay.” It is. At its best. He sits on a chair on our porch, talks, and never sees us. We are too gay to be seen.

I live with three cats. One man. Did I forget to mention that my responsibility is to change the litter boxes? Did I mention that Stan’s is to update our computers? Un/traditional families. Us? How untraditional can you be when watching George Burns and Gracie Allen is an ideal evening? There must be. More to life. Than growing. Old. Maybe there isn’t more. But along the way, a sweet pat on the head, a meow to get back in from the porch. The allemandan’s yellow illuminating a window. Family. I should mention that we have over 100 blossoms right now on our toad lilies. They advocate for us better than I can.

Ken's poetry appeared in Issue 1. His poem "While the Roofer" is among the best of the work we've published.