Only on the Weekends, page 5
With K across the aisle.
He looks down at his hands,
Fingers interlinked, thumbs pressed together.
I’m not even sure K is aware of the attention.
He’s hunched over,
Closed off from everything and everyone.
Two stops into the journey,
A muscular man
In a neon-orange T-shirt and black shorts
Side-eyes K, then looks away.
Repeats: four, five times.
Gives up and taps at his phone.
As the tube pulls into Tottenham Court Road,
K breathes a sigh of relief
And jumps out of his seat.
We walk to Soho
And I catch sight of an old café
With outside tables that face onto the street.
Queer couples parade past our table with a view.
I want to say something to K
About it being Valentine’s Day tomorrow
But my stomach is in knots.
What if I frighten him off?
K claps his hands together tightly.
His left leg shakes up and down,
Like Maz’s when she’s angry.
I think I understand.
“Is this table too public?
Shall we go inside, instead?”
“It’s not that.
But shouldn’t we have waited
To be seated by a waiter?”
I laugh. “Nah, it’s fine.
When they see us, they’ll bring menus.
Waiter means they wait on us,
Not that we wait for them.”
K doesn’t laugh.
“I’d just feel better
If we let them know we’re here.”
I frown. “Okay, I’ll go do that.”
I get up.
When I get back to K, he smiles.
“Thanks for that, Big Mack.”
“What can I get you?” asks the waitress.
She thrusts down two menus.
Blond shoulder-length hair,
Fake eyelashes that flutter cold air at me,
And red lips that smile impatiently.
I scan the menu as quick as I can.
“A carrot cake and a latte.”
“The greens smoothie, please,” says K.
“Coming right up.”
She snatches the menus and marches off.
“She was a bit off,” I say.
K says nothing.
He taps on the side of the little vase
Which holds a single white iris.
Dad once told me it was Mum’s favorite flower.
This feels like a blessing.
I think of how to tell K
But can’t find the words.
The waitress brings our drinks and my cake.
“Cash or card?” she asks, as K says, “Thank you.”
I laugh nervously. “We’ll pay at the end.”
I turn back to K. “We might get something else.”
“That’s fine.” She sets down a silver dish
With a slip of paper.
“I can bring another bill for anything extra,
But you can pay for these now.”
I look around,
And realize we’re the youngest, by far.
“Do you ask everyone to pay straightaway?”
“Only those we suspect
Might run off without paying.”
Her lipstick fake smile
Barely masks her contempt.
“It’s calm.” K dangles a ten-pound note.
“We won’t get anything else.
It’s clear you don’t want us here.”
“I’m sorry.”
She slides the silver dish toward K.
“It’s just that if you run off, it comes out my pay.
It’s happened to me quite a few times,
And it’s often young men that look like you two.”
“What does that mean?”
I fake bemusement.
“How do we look alike?”
“You know
What I mean.”
SLAM!
K’s money on the table.
The silver dish, the vase and flower all tremble.
K is a tower. A monument.
“Come we go, Big Mack.”
The waitress cowers in K’s shadow.
I pick up the money,
Stand, and hand it to him.
“Contactless?” I point to the card reader
In a holster on her hip, like a cowboy’s gun.
She types in the amount
And holds it out at arm’s length.
We stare each other down.
Gunslingers at high noon.
My phone hovers over the card reader.
Beep.
“Thank you, sir.” No smile.
I follow K,
Who’s already halfway
Down Old Compton Street.
“Slow down, K!” I yell after him.
A queer couple who trot toward K
Release each other’s hands to sidestep him.
One drops the bunch of red roses
And the other yells, “Hey! Watch it!”
K stops.
As I catch up to him,
He breathes in through his nose
And out through his mouth,
Like meditation with eyes open.
He glares into the distance.
Fists unclench at his side. I reach for his hand.
He jumps away from me, like I’m lava.
Don’t take it personally.
“Sorry,” says K.
“Let’s go, please.”
We plod to the station, hands in pockets.
To break the silence, I say to K:
“That was shit.
I’m sorry our first date was ruined.
It’s not the first time that’s happened to me.
I don’t know about you?”
K says nothing.
So I continue: “This one time
Dad and I went to a really expensive restaurant.
Dad paid and we headed out the door
And then the waiter yelled,
‘EXCUSE ME, HAVE YOU PAID?’
Everyone in the restaurant went silent,
And turned to look at us.
But Dad posted about it on social media
And the restaurant owner contacted him,
Begging him to delete his post.
People commented to say
They would boycott the restaurant
And shared their experiences.
‘You can have as much money as you like
And still get no respect.
It’s like Black and brown people
Aren’t allowed to have nice things,’
Dad said to me at the time.
I found it a bit ironic
Because we have plenty of nice things.”
K says nothing.
Our first proper date is a fail.
Sunday Afternoon
As soon as I get home,
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge
And sit at the kitchen island to drink it,
Before I palm my phone and message Femi and Sim
To tell them about the disaster date
And the rude waitress.
BROTHERS GROUP CHAT:
FEMI: This is why you need social media!
You could’ve filmed her and got her canceled.
SIM: Like when your dad went viral,
That restaurant came groveling.
MACK: That’s not my style.
FEMI: Kini?
Shey, it’s having crushes on straight guys?
SIM: K’s not straight, Femi!
He went on a date with Mack,
The gayest boy at school,
And they went to Soho,
The gayest part of London.
FEMI: Have you even kissed yet?
MACK: Nah.
FEMI: I rest my case.
MACK: But he asked me to his game on Saturday.
Are you guys going?
SIM: Nah.
We’re taking the girls on a double date
Since Valentine’s is on a school night.
MACK: I’ve been thinking:
Do I acknowledge Valentine’s Day with K?
FEMI: Hell no!
SIM: Definitely not!
MACK: Why not?
SIM: You’ve been doing so well
But you’ve said it for yourself:
K needs to take things slow.
FEMI: Don’t even text him tomorrow.
Wait for him to text you first.
Monday—Valentine’s Day, 11:59 p.m.
MACK: Not even a text?
K: What do you mean?
MACK: What day is it?
K: Is this a trick question?
It’s just gone midnight.
MACK: Never mind.
K: I’m sorry! I’m joking!
Happy Valentine’s Day!
MACK: Like you said, it’s just gone midnight.
Valentine’s Day is over.
K: You didn’t say anything at school.
You could’ve messaged me
If it was so important to you.
MACK: I just did.
K: That’s true. I’m sorry!
MACK: Xx
Saturday, pregame
Maz and I walk slightly ahead of Uncle O
On the way to school.
Uncle O wanted to drive
But I told him I want to walk more.
“As you wish, habibi,” he replied.
Maz told me habibi means:
My love, my dear, or my darling.
Maybe I give too much weight to this translation,
But it feels like a big deal:
Like Uncle O thinks of me as part of their family.
Or, as K calls them, “the Fam.”
I wish K would call me habibi,
Instead of Big Mack.
I wonder what Uncle O thinks of me and K.
I decide to ask Maz, as we walk.
Maz says softly, “Dad wants K to be happy
And you make him happy,
Like basketball makes him happy.”
I don’t like the comparison to a sport.
Like K plays me.
But I think I get what Maz means.
K makes me happy
Like music and makeup make me happy.
Saturday, King K
MACK!
MACK!
MACK!
The smack of the ball on the court
The force from K’s palm to the floor
Sounds like
MACK!
MACK!
MACK!
I am the ball that bounces back
To his warm hands
To his firm grip
To the pulse in his fingertips
We run this court, King K and me
He lets me go momentarily
But his open palms
Wait for me
He finds a position to receive me
It’s only right that he can be in possession of me
I fly at his command
Fulfill his arm’s trajectory
My curve through the air his will and prophecy
I
S W O O S H
Through the net
And plummet to the floor
A comet with no crater
The only thing we damage is the other team’s ego
You know how it goes
There’s no greater feeling than being held by him
And so I come
Back
Back
Back
He shoots
He scores
Until the buzzer says NO MORE!
Our team has won
King K earns his crown for sure
The crowd erupts into a ROAR!
Saturday, postgame
We wait for K in front of school to congratulate him
But he takes his sweet time.
Will K talk to me in front of his team?
“I’ll head home to start dinner,” says Uncle O.
“I’ll wait for K,” I say.
Maz nods and smiles: “I’ll come with you, Dad.”
The team leave together. K isn’t with them.
Dreamy Didier is all cheekbones and confidence,
The others all laugh at something he says.
MACK: Maz and Uncle O have left
Do you want me to leave?
K: No! Don’t go!
Come to the changing room
I imagine
I push the door to find K in nothing but a towel.
I’m disappointed. He’s already changed into jeans
And an oversized white T-shirt
And slips on his worn-out Nike LeBrons as I enter.
“I hoped you’d be naked.”
K laughs:
“This isn’t a teen movie.
The team are going for food
But before I join them,
I wanted to thank you for coming today.
It means a lot to have your support.
You’re like my lucky charm.”
He buzzes with pride.
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
I’ve never been alone with someone
In this changing room.
I’ve never been alone with K like this.
K pats the changing room bench
For me to sit next to him.
I linger for a moment:
Strip lighting illuminates his wet hair,
His big brown eyes gaze up at me,
His thick eyelashes.
He licks his lips.
His mouth looks heavenly.
He breathes heavily.
“So, what happens when I sit down?”
I tilt my head and smile.
“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay?”
Wow!
I’ve imagined this moment a lot.
I thought one day K would grab me,
His hand at the back of my head,
And pull my face toward his face
And we’d be having our first kiss.
I never imagined K sat waiting
And asking if he could kiss me.
I don’t know how to say:
It would be more than okay.
It would be everything. It’s the only thing
I’ve been thinking about for so long.
Kissing you would be a dream come true,
A wish fulfilled, and proof
That I am worthy of love.
Instead, I say, “Yeah! You better kiss me.”
K laughs.
The bench rocks, as I land.
K repositions his feet to steady us.
My laughter is muffled by K’s lips,
As he begins to kiss me.
K’s hand is on my knee.
I feel the weight of him make contact with me
In several places at once;
His lips on my lips, his hand on my knee,
His other hand on my shoulder,
Holding me like I’ve never been held before.
K doesn’t just kiss me:
He breathes me in, like my lips are life-giving.
In that moment, I know:
If K wanted it, I would gladly give him
All of my oxygen.
I’m so lost in K’s kiss that I can’t tell
If it lasts thirty seconds, a minute, or two.
K pulls away and leaves me breathless.
He whispers, “I’m sorry about Valentine’s Day.
But I hope that makes up for it?”
Wide-eyed, lost for words, I manage a tiny nod.
With a nod of his own and a self-satisfied smile,
K keeps a hand on my shoulder
But, with the hand that was on my knee,
He takes out his phone.
THE TEAM GROUP CHAT:
K: Order me my usual
D:
I pant between words,
“I guess. That means. You’re still going
For dinner. With your team?”
“I have to. But I’m glad we did this. Aren’t you?”
K leans to one side, slides phone back in his pocket.
“Do you think you’d ever come out to the team?”
I lean back against the wall.
“Come out as what?” K recoils,
And, with that, we’re detached.
“Come out as gay.” I hope to reconnect.
“Gay fits you,” says K. “I’m not sure it fits me.
I’d prefer to do things quietly.”
“You mean secretly?” I accuse.
“Yeah, maybe.” K slumps.
“It took me months to build up the courage
To kiss you today.
Winning the game made me feel invincible.”
He sighs.
I see the last of those winning feelings
Leave him.
I want to say something supportive.
I want to tell K: Well done.
I want to tell K: Thank you.
Instead, I say:
“So, you get to feel invincible
But I’ve got to stay invisible?”
K rolls his eyes, like Maz:
“Think about it, Big Mack.
If people know we’re a thing,
They’ll think we’re having sex.
Imagine everyone at school
Thinking about, talking about,
Joking about our sex life.”
“We don’t have a sex life,”
I say, because it’s true.
“Do you think anyone would believe that?
Do you want people to ask you about it?
The team talk about sex nonstop.
If I told them I’m not straight,
I know they’d feel uncomfortable around me.
I know they would.
I hear how they talk about girls.
Every girl at school
Has been talked about in this changing room.
They rate their appearance,
They talk about how they’d have sex with them,
What positions,
Like a girl is a mannequin,
Like those wooden dolls in the art room,
To be put in any position.
When they can’t find words
To describe what they’d do,
They play each other porn on their phones.
I don’t watch
But I hear the moans and groans.
D is the only one who doesn’t say rude things,
But he still laughs along.
They don’t talk about Maz,
But what if they do when I’m not around?
They assume I don’t want to see porn
Because it’s haram.
That’s true, but it’s not my reason.
I don’t want to tell them
I’m not straight
Because I don’t want them to think I see them
He looks down at his hands,
Fingers interlinked, thumbs pressed together.
I’m not even sure K is aware of the attention.
He’s hunched over,
Closed off from everything and everyone.
Two stops into the journey,
A muscular man
In a neon-orange T-shirt and black shorts
Side-eyes K, then looks away.
Repeats: four, five times.
Gives up and taps at his phone.
As the tube pulls into Tottenham Court Road,
K breathes a sigh of relief
And jumps out of his seat.
We walk to Soho
And I catch sight of an old café
With outside tables that face onto the street.
Queer couples parade past our table with a view.
I want to say something to K
About it being Valentine’s Day tomorrow
But my stomach is in knots.
What if I frighten him off?
K claps his hands together tightly.
His left leg shakes up and down,
Like Maz’s when she’s angry.
I think I understand.
“Is this table too public?
Shall we go inside, instead?”
“It’s not that.
But shouldn’t we have waited
To be seated by a waiter?”
I laugh. “Nah, it’s fine.
When they see us, they’ll bring menus.
Waiter means they wait on us,
Not that we wait for them.”
K doesn’t laugh.
“I’d just feel better
If we let them know we’re here.”
I frown. “Okay, I’ll go do that.”
I get up.
When I get back to K, he smiles.
“Thanks for that, Big Mack.”
“What can I get you?” asks the waitress.
She thrusts down two menus.
Blond shoulder-length hair,
Fake eyelashes that flutter cold air at me,
And red lips that smile impatiently.
I scan the menu as quick as I can.
“A carrot cake and a latte.”
“The greens smoothie, please,” says K.
“Coming right up.”
She snatches the menus and marches off.
“She was a bit off,” I say.
K says nothing.
He taps on the side of the little vase
Which holds a single white iris.
Dad once told me it was Mum’s favorite flower.
This feels like a blessing.
I think of how to tell K
But can’t find the words.
The waitress brings our drinks and my cake.
“Cash or card?” she asks, as K says, “Thank you.”
I laugh nervously. “We’ll pay at the end.”
I turn back to K. “We might get something else.”
“That’s fine.” She sets down a silver dish
With a slip of paper.
“I can bring another bill for anything extra,
But you can pay for these now.”
I look around,
And realize we’re the youngest, by far.
“Do you ask everyone to pay straightaway?”
“Only those we suspect
Might run off without paying.”
Her lipstick fake smile
Barely masks her contempt.
“It’s calm.” K dangles a ten-pound note.
“We won’t get anything else.
It’s clear you don’t want us here.”
“I’m sorry.”
She slides the silver dish toward K.
“It’s just that if you run off, it comes out my pay.
It’s happened to me quite a few times,
And it’s often young men that look like you two.”
“What does that mean?”
I fake bemusement.
“How do we look alike?”
“You know
What I mean.”
SLAM!
K’s money on the table.
The silver dish, the vase and flower all tremble.
K is a tower. A monument.
“Come we go, Big Mack.”
The waitress cowers in K’s shadow.
I pick up the money,
Stand, and hand it to him.
“Contactless?” I point to the card reader
In a holster on her hip, like a cowboy’s gun.
She types in the amount
And holds it out at arm’s length.
We stare each other down.
Gunslingers at high noon.
My phone hovers over the card reader.
Beep.
“Thank you, sir.” No smile.
I follow K,
Who’s already halfway
Down Old Compton Street.
“Slow down, K!” I yell after him.
A queer couple who trot toward K
Release each other’s hands to sidestep him.
One drops the bunch of red roses
And the other yells, “Hey! Watch it!”
K stops.
As I catch up to him,
He breathes in through his nose
And out through his mouth,
Like meditation with eyes open.
He glares into the distance.
Fists unclench at his side. I reach for his hand.
He jumps away from me, like I’m lava.
Don’t take it personally.
“Sorry,” says K.
“Let’s go, please.”
We plod to the station, hands in pockets.
To break the silence, I say to K:
“That was shit.
I’m sorry our first date was ruined.
It’s not the first time that’s happened to me.
I don’t know about you?”
K says nothing.
So I continue: “This one time
Dad and I went to a really expensive restaurant.
Dad paid and we headed out the door
And then the waiter yelled,
‘EXCUSE ME, HAVE YOU PAID?’
Everyone in the restaurant went silent,
And turned to look at us.
But Dad posted about it on social media
And the restaurant owner contacted him,
Begging him to delete his post.
People commented to say
They would boycott the restaurant
And shared their experiences.
‘You can have as much money as you like
And still get no respect.
It’s like Black and brown people
Aren’t allowed to have nice things,’
Dad said to me at the time.
I found it a bit ironic
Because we have plenty of nice things.”
K says nothing.
Our first proper date is a fail.
Sunday Afternoon
As soon as I get home,
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge
And sit at the kitchen island to drink it,
Before I palm my phone and message Femi and Sim
To tell them about the disaster date
And the rude waitress.
BROTHERS GROUP CHAT:
FEMI: This is why you need social media!
You could’ve filmed her and got her canceled.
SIM: Like when your dad went viral,
That restaurant came groveling.
MACK: That’s not my style.
FEMI: Kini?
Shey, it’s having crushes on straight guys?
SIM: K’s not straight, Femi!
He went on a date with Mack,
The gayest boy at school,
And they went to Soho,
The gayest part of London.
FEMI: Have you even kissed yet?
MACK: Nah.
FEMI: I rest my case.
MACK: But he asked me to his game on Saturday.
Are you guys going?
SIM: Nah.
We’re taking the girls on a double date
Since Valentine’s is on a school night.
MACK: I’ve been thinking:
Do I acknowledge Valentine’s Day with K?
FEMI: Hell no!
SIM: Definitely not!
MACK: Why not?
SIM: You’ve been doing so well
But you’ve said it for yourself:
K needs to take things slow.
FEMI: Don’t even text him tomorrow.
Wait for him to text you first.
Monday—Valentine’s Day, 11:59 p.m.
MACK: Not even a text?
K: What do you mean?
MACK: What day is it?
K: Is this a trick question?
It’s just gone midnight.
MACK: Never mind.
K: I’m sorry! I’m joking!
Happy Valentine’s Day!
MACK: Like you said, it’s just gone midnight.
Valentine’s Day is over.
K: You didn’t say anything at school.
You could’ve messaged me
If it was so important to you.
MACK: I just did.
K: That’s true. I’m sorry!
MACK: Xx
Saturday, pregame
Maz and I walk slightly ahead of Uncle O
On the way to school.
Uncle O wanted to drive
But I told him I want to walk more.
“As you wish, habibi,” he replied.
Maz told me habibi means:
My love, my dear, or my darling.
Maybe I give too much weight to this translation,
But it feels like a big deal:
Like Uncle O thinks of me as part of their family.
Or, as K calls them, “the Fam.”
I wish K would call me habibi,
Instead of Big Mack.
I wonder what Uncle O thinks of me and K.
I decide to ask Maz, as we walk.
Maz says softly, “Dad wants K to be happy
And you make him happy,
Like basketball makes him happy.”
I don’t like the comparison to a sport.
Like K plays me.
But I think I get what Maz means.
K makes me happy
Like music and makeup make me happy.
Saturday, King K
MACK!
MACK!
MACK!
The smack of the ball on the court
The force from K’s palm to the floor
Sounds like
MACK!
MACK!
MACK!
I am the ball that bounces back
To his warm hands
To his firm grip
To the pulse in his fingertips
We run this court, King K and me
He lets me go momentarily
But his open palms
Wait for me
He finds a position to receive me
It’s only right that he can be in possession of me
I fly at his command
Fulfill his arm’s trajectory
My curve through the air his will and prophecy
I
S W O O S H
Through the net
And plummet to the floor
A comet with no crater
The only thing we damage is the other team’s ego
You know how it goes
There’s no greater feeling than being held by him
And so I come
Back
Back
Back
He shoots
He scores
Until the buzzer says NO MORE!
Our team has won
King K earns his crown for sure
The crowd erupts into a ROAR!
Saturday, postgame
We wait for K in front of school to congratulate him
But he takes his sweet time.
Will K talk to me in front of his team?
“I’ll head home to start dinner,” says Uncle O.
“I’ll wait for K,” I say.
Maz nods and smiles: “I’ll come with you, Dad.”
The team leave together. K isn’t with them.
Dreamy Didier is all cheekbones and confidence,
The others all laugh at something he says.
MACK: Maz and Uncle O have left
Do you want me to leave?
K: No! Don’t go!
Come to the changing room
I imagine
I push the door to find K in nothing but a towel.
I’m disappointed. He’s already changed into jeans
And an oversized white T-shirt
And slips on his worn-out Nike LeBrons as I enter.
“I hoped you’d be naked.”
K laughs:
“This isn’t a teen movie.
The team are going for food
But before I join them,
I wanted to thank you for coming today.
It means a lot to have your support.
You’re like my lucky charm.”
He buzzes with pride.
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
I’ve never been alone with someone
In this changing room.
I’ve never been alone with K like this.
K pats the changing room bench
For me to sit next to him.
I linger for a moment:
Strip lighting illuminates his wet hair,
His big brown eyes gaze up at me,
His thick eyelashes.
He licks his lips.
His mouth looks heavenly.
He breathes heavily.
“So, what happens when I sit down?”
I tilt my head and smile.
“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay?”
Wow!
I’ve imagined this moment a lot.
I thought one day K would grab me,
His hand at the back of my head,
And pull my face toward his face
And we’d be having our first kiss.
I never imagined K sat waiting
And asking if he could kiss me.
I don’t know how to say:
It would be more than okay.
It would be everything. It’s the only thing
I’ve been thinking about for so long.
Kissing you would be a dream come true,
A wish fulfilled, and proof
That I am worthy of love.
Instead, I say, “Yeah! You better kiss me.”
K laughs.
The bench rocks, as I land.
K repositions his feet to steady us.
My laughter is muffled by K’s lips,
As he begins to kiss me.
K’s hand is on my knee.
I feel the weight of him make contact with me
In several places at once;
His lips on my lips, his hand on my knee,
His other hand on my shoulder,
Holding me like I’ve never been held before.
K doesn’t just kiss me:
He breathes me in, like my lips are life-giving.
In that moment, I know:
If K wanted it, I would gladly give him
All of my oxygen.
I’m so lost in K’s kiss that I can’t tell
If it lasts thirty seconds, a minute, or two.
K pulls away and leaves me breathless.
He whispers, “I’m sorry about Valentine’s Day.
But I hope that makes up for it?”
Wide-eyed, lost for words, I manage a tiny nod.
With a nod of his own and a self-satisfied smile,
K keeps a hand on my shoulder
But, with the hand that was on my knee,
He takes out his phone.
THE TEAM GROUP CHAT:
K: Order me my usual
D:
I pant between words,
“I guess. That means. You’re still going
For dinner. With your team?”
“I have to. But I’m glad we did this. Aren’t you?”
K leans to one side, slides phone back in his pocket.
“Do you think you’d ever come out to the team?”
I lean back against the wall.
“Come out as what?” K recoils,
And, with that, we’re detached.
“Come out as gay.” I hope to reconnect.
“Gay fits you,” says K. “I’m not sure it fits me.
I’d prefer to do things quietly.”
“You mean secretly?” I accuse.
“Yeah, maybe.” K slumps.
“It took me months to build up the courage
To kiss you today.
Winning the game made me feel invincible.”
He sighs.
I see the last of those winning feelings
Leave him.
I want to say something supportive.
I want to tell K: Well done.
I want to tell K: Thank you.
Instead, I say:
“So, you get to feel invincible
But I’ve got to stay invisible?”
K rolls his eyes, like Maz:
“Think about it, Big Mack.
If people know we’re a thing,
They’ll think we’re having sex.
Imagine everyone at school
Thinking about, talking about,
Joking about our sex life.”
“We don’t have a sex life,”
I say, because it’s true.
“Do you think anyone would believe that?
Do you want people to ask you about it?
The team talk about sex nonstop.
If I told them I’m not straight,
I know they’d feel uncomfortable around me.
I know they would.
I hear how they talk about girls.
Every girl at school
Has been talked about in this changing room.
They rate their appearance,
They talk about how they’d have sex with them,
What positions,
Like a girl is a mannequin,
Like those wooden dolls in the art room,
To be put in any position.
When they can’t find words
To describe what they’d do,
They play each other porn on their phones.
I don’t watch
But I hear the moans and groans.
D is the only one who doesn’t say rude things,
But he still laughs along.
They don’t talk about Maz,
But what if they do when I’m not around?
They assume I don’t want to see porn
Because it’s haram.
That’s true, but it’s not my reason.
I don’t want to tell them
I’m not straight
Because I don’t want them to think I see them
