Sultry, smooth as a vulture-picked femur,
it arrived. A boy
at baseball practice lifting his shirt,
exposing his stomach. Run to him,
it urged. Drop to your knees
and adjust his cup.
Athletes stalked the halls in flimsy tanks—
biceps, deltoids, traps.
Whenever I caught sight of a sweaty pit,
it growled: Nuzzle! Nuzzle!
At home, slick with lotion, I let it
select the fantasy. Scott the jock nibbling
my nipples. Petey the pitcher shooting
screw balls down my throat.
Shove a finger in your ass, it said. And I did,
and gasped, it felt so good. Good,
it soothed. You’re almost
there. A full-blown queer. My dirty armadillo.
