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?