Seagull, Tiny

The villagers are

in their booths at
boston market

The boys living on

and talking about

and memory The
united states

is the collective
process of

demanding feelings
and a certain

memory I would live
on synthetics

but i hate fragility
Lonely and afraid,

my women sing, there
is no father

in me They talk about

a limit allows There
is hope

of forgiveness, but
my american

corpse has been such
a disappointment

I would live on
feeling safe

and spilling secrets
It is confusing

the plain people

like potato blossoms
When i first

met a trans person at
age 7

she served us mashed

at boston market
Mother winced

and statistically it's
unlikely she

kept the job
I am worthy

of eating food i tell
myself There

is some hope of

for boys I would live
on their plastic

It is confusing that
words trick us

From Safe Space (Ahsahta Press, 2016). Copyright © 2016 by Jos Charles. Used with the permission of the poet.