I'm afraid I will be left behind. The progressives will scoot past me veering toward roads not taken, as I sit comfortably nestled in my partner's arms zoning out to the X factor. Meanwhile, that other queer black artist dude is sucking at the teet of Rose-Lee Warhol Jones. And then, I'll turn around, my hair grey and my child marching off to college. I'll hold my partner a little closer - acknowledging my most meaningful performance: "the shoulder you leaned on."