What happened in December

by Jake Arthur

What would the opposite of a peahen look like? 

This is a real thing I said as I walked into the kitchen. 

And what would it look like, what is the opposite 

of a feather? What, after everything, is the opposite 

of a vagina? 

I wish the surgeon would open me up to find a perfect 

chrome machine. I said this over sage-fried eggs, 

and you were speechless for a moment. 

I think the exact same thing. You’re the only person 

I’ve met who’s said that.

Does this mean our souls are lashed together 

like sticks in a faggot? Like our dicks in my hand? 

I pulled at it and you said, Be gentle. Your frenulum 

doesn’t slot in the right place. Ouch, ouch, you said. 

My triceps hurt a bit by the end, and I had stubble-burn. 

I read on my phone that Egypt arrested gay men at a sauna 

and performed anal testing to prove their proclivities. 

During this time I kissed a man in full street-view. 

What would the opposite of you look like? 

Is it him? One of you is cold-blooded, 

both bite your nails, and one has a shadow like a club. 

I sat and watched the rowers by the waterfront, 

their bottoms outlined in lycra. They strutted, peacocks. 

At the crossing, I moved so I could be behind the man 

in the tight business pants. I looked and looked and looked. 

I can’t recognise you from behind yet. 

I have reflux: hot motor oil a rainbow smudge on my insides. 

I always want to say I love you when I’m having sex. 

I want to be romantic; it makes me hard. 

What would you say if I said it? What would you say if I mean it?