Playing Around

As a teen, you wore
your mother’s bra
stuffed with socks—breasts
meant to be seen,
never touched.
Do you wish you’d been born
a woman? you asked.

When I fucked you,
I saw you as you
wanted to be seen—
smooth and warm
skin, a mouth I loved
kissing.

In college, you showed me
how to smoke crack—
a rock in a bowl
of aluminum foil,
white vapor.

I wanted to dial back
time, back when you confided
only small things—
like the lipstick you stole
from the corner store.

Back before your body,
with its many little betrayals,
simply stopped
being yours.

Mickie Kennedy (he/him) is a gay writer who resides in Baltimore County, Maryland with his family and a shy cat that lives under his son's bed. A Pushcart Prize nominee, his work has appeared in The Bangalore Review, The Pinch, Plainsongs, Portland Review, Wisconsin Review, and elsewhere. He earned an MFA from George Mason University.