Teddy L. Friedline

Ode on the Penis I Made When I Was Eleven

O humble lump of sock-cloth / O dark bamboo fabric /
O second iteration of scratchy monkey-print / O burgeon in my panties
tucked hard against jean-zipper / O prophet of the future,
that you had told me earlier / or that I heeded your call earlier /
O fear of the washing machine / that my mother would know, somehow,
from some nonexistent residue along toe or heel / that I was dirty,
a sin / of bursting into flames when I entered the sanctuary of my grandparents’ church /
O little false funnel fail funnel / moved back and forth
to the front and then underneath and then something in between /
such a secret you were little fold-wad / such a realization
you were later / such a shame never given to a parent who asked for proof /
how do you start / When I was eleven I made myself a penis out of a pair of socks
to a father who responded to your new name with / so you want to be a boy?
to a mother who doesn’t understand why you have to be / one of those gays /
O little treasure mound / little hiding-place / little failed exploration /
how you baffle even me/ O little smushie place / laying on my beige carpet /
face up at the fan / pressing my fingertips against the zipper-patch