(a horny poem) in which Bananarama defend me in court

Came into the day hard,
filling myself up with someone else’s bones
with panic on the radio
and a shy boy pressing down on my thoughts
from the inside.

I opened those blast-shield doors
and took all that fucking heat.
Then let the wise women judge
the summers that have burnt me.

Thought I might follow the ghost up
to his room of tricks,
where I will try on his glasses
and steal some of his ties and hope
enough of his magic might
rub off on me.

About the author

Welton B. Marsland [www.weltonbmarsland.com]
Queer-punk, working class writer, poetry dabbler, author of an award-winning novel. WBM would love to have a beer with you, or at least say hi on bluesky – @wbmarsland.bsky.social

Photo by Ricardo Resende on Unsplash.