He told me about the time
When he scraped his knee so raw
He didn’t feel it till he looked down at the puddle
It didn’t hurt until he started healing
Those copper days passed like train cars
Rancid and sour weeks with hair matted in place
Someday he’d peel all his bandages
To fresh porcelain kneecaps
Ready for soccer stains
Aching for sunburn crimson.
Closeted