Wrecking Ball

Remember boy, the time I pushed
you off the wingdam. Kissed you
in the river weeds, fucked up on pints.
Cue chalk between our teeth, you pulled
on my armpit hair and I teased
you for losing your glasses.
You didn’t want to get in my way.
So you let me alone, but I was always
looking for you behind the after hours club.
Or between the pines, where we licked
whiskey by the train tracks like lost boys together –
fat with sex and vice. Ain’t no one get it.
Ain’t no one know what its like to feel
your hard on in the warm creek
and smack the smell of your good ideas
off your thighs. I feel your clover tongue.
The way you hock your spit on my ass.
The way you tune me like a cracked banjo.
The way that god is watching us swig,
our faces like we are full of figs. Like
your knuckles hit my teeth. The bad boys.
How can we be so many fucking rivers?
How can I have fallen in love with
your belly button in a bathroom stall?
Your shoulders on a pine covered
marsh where you let me suck you off,
as long as I checked you for ticks after.


Boston Gordon

Boston Gordon is a poet and writer living in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. They run the You Can't Kill A Poet reading series - which highlights queer and trans identified poets in Philadelphia. Boston earned their MFA in Poetry through Lesley University. They have previously been published in Word Riot, Bedfellows, Guernica and more. They have work forthcoming at The Fem.