When the Neighbor Boys Gathered

         It seemed all their faces grew

sticky as they watched. Fruit flies stuck to their chins.

Like any soft boy, I am constantly reminded 

         of how much better I look

inside-out. It was in Kevin’s backyard 

         where I learned how to swallow

         a boot or two.

         This was the birthplace of my knees,

new cells coating the gravel, red lesions 

         like fat worms along my legs.

I didn’t always hate them—the boys I mean. 

It was the closest I’ve come to baptism.

Head locked against his naked torso. His sour sweat 

burning my eyes shut. That restless timbre

growing in my head, as I pursed my lips and pressed 

         my face into his ribs, left a trail of saliva

along his bare skin. Muscles withered

         and dried out as he pushed me away, disgusted

         at how hard my pulse had become 

in his arms. This is how the summer opened

its wet mouth, how it wrung the blood 

                         from a body and rebuilt it

                                                    from the mud.