Locked
Type
Poetry

I knew her but could not be a boy

i’m throwing it off in a big way &
no-one notices. i’ve seen it cause a
fuss & now that’s the only way to do
it. she thinks i’m lying because i’m
wearing jeans but she’s never seen me
on the weekend.

(in my dreams i’m a jockey
& no-one recognises me under
all that silk)

all my friends see a salmon & say ‘same’.
we drive down to lake’s entrance & take
our clothes off, it’s very stressful. if i had
to buy a swimsuit i think i would die.
i’m thinking about the drugs, it seems as though
that’s what you have to do. she’s raising money
to go all the way & my stomach gnaws at me it’s
a feeling like jealousy but less useful.

 

i tell a big secret to everyone i meet & usually
they forget right away. this makes poetry difficult
among other things. a boy i like has a girlfriend &
this is difficult too.

(today i gave my two weeks
& tomorrow i will buy a horse)

there are doors everywhere the only problem
is that most of them are locked. when it’s warm
again i will spend a little money but for now the
rain settles in over the bowls club & i watch the
races.

 

Image: Damien Roué / flickr

 

Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places.

If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate.

Harry Reid is a poet from Melbourne. They co-host sick leave, a monthly reading series at the Gasometer Hotel, and their work can be found in Cordite Poetry Review, The Lifted Brow, Overland and elsewhere.

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