CW: homophobia

Boy(ish) vest is a walking billboard 

of fuck you and not today Satan;

a political spell 

of white letters adorning a salt 

plain with two ancient burial 

mounds suffocated beneath. 

Is a shade of forgiving black 

to hide where the baby grew; 

is not the mother. 

Boy(ish) vest simmers like a witch 

at the stake of the restaurant it burned 

in for one hour before realising 

it won’t get served here. Is exorcized 

with holy spit whilst walking home; 

is safer in shadows than streetlights that glint 

against the soft jaw attempting dagger.

Boy(ish) vest is the second lover 

to turn Boy(ish) vest on the girl 

who only likes girl(ish) vests, 

and this makes her cry, a lot. 

Boy(ish) vest says oh well, falls 

in love with a straight sexologist, 

follows her to Freud’s house, 

visits her catholic parents; 

sleeps in the attic like a troll. 

Becomes a ghost in the home

of the next girlfriend’s mother who said: 

I accept that you are lesbian 

but don’t bring home any of those ugly 

ones with tattoos and short hair.

Boy(ish) vest is all biceps and no heart. 

Ran 72 miles this week to tear itself apart. 

Shrinks to toad when touched 

in un-nameable places by one-night-stand. 

Should probably summon the land for a therapist 

and ask, why am I a Boy(ish) vest?