just what boys do in summer

i’m still becoming

still stealing others’ ways of being

like the boys diving down the steep sand dune at bethells

bluetooth speaker snarling edm, no talking

and if it were up to me they’d kiss later

if it were up to me, tomorrow there’d be a new government policy:

free top surgery for anyone who wants it!

detachable tits for all!

even the cis girls who just want to

hang them on a rack for a while

the wet rash shirt crinkles against the fold of my chest

i skim across the top of the dune

i feel like i’ll never become a man

i’m a boy with a secret woman inside of him

no, there’s more to it than that

but i don’t feel like having an epiphany right now

not in front of the boys

i feel like watching their biceps glisten

as they gouge out thick continents of sand

with their searching hands

Sylvan Spring (Pākehā from Ireland and Scotland) is a writer and occasional music maker who has spent most of their life in Te Whanganui-ā-Tara. they got their first taste for writing at the age of 8 when they won a writing competition with a story about sentient meat. This poem was written for the forthcoming Bad Apple anthology Spoiled Fruit.