Before George Michael made visits to johns
For jollies chic in a cheeky dance song,
On our island, dozen after dozen,
Entrapped men behind stall doors had fun in
The Village Shopping Mall. I watched every
Evening, the square-jawed anchorman reveal
Names, air photos, clips of the men in cuffs,
Blab till the weather with neutered disgust.
A note passed in class outed my neighbour
In the next row, marked him as a nephew.
It snowballed to a shit-knocking at lunch.
He wore a scarlet scrap of his uncle’s brunt.