• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 03


The boy considered the gap in the fence,
shaped like a rugby ball, his dad would’ve said
an almond (that was his mum)
it was a sweet shape, he concluded
it made him think of girls, and the
soft curves of girlish things,
this subtle symmetrical slit
widening, relenting to offer a space
beyond which he might be anyone
and lose his limits.

On Christmas Day he’d asked for colours
for his eyes, lips and cheeks,
like the other girls owned, girls he knew,
and some brave boys on YouTube.

He leaned over the fence, took in the view
and glimpsed his pretty future,
neither rugby ball nor almond
but soft, colourful, sweet, new
with space for him to fit through.