From ‘there is a reason why this is called shame’ by Bebe Ashley

the boy who could’ve been great at water polo
with his long arms and excellent eyesight underwater
had been in bed with blankets pulled up to his ears
long enough that the boy who would’ve watched the other
play water polo every second week of the season
even though the hot chlorine air made his head swim
worried enough that when he soothed the blankets
he was soft and gentle and lit quiet candles
to help the boy who was still breathing but slowly

until both boys remembered the hurt the worry the nausea
the fear the fear the fear the fear the fear the fear the fear
that everything overwhelming would eventually still
and the swimming pool was heated throughout the year

*

the boys were tangled together under a winter duvet
snubbing the already bright sun to stare at the other
sleeping only to get caught mid-smile and pretend
themselves back to sleep so neither had to move

through the thin walls of the flat-share they heard
the metallic clang of scrambled eggs being stirred
a shout at the use of sea salt then the slow boil
of the kettle and its slow steam climbing the walls

the boy who had another boy in his bed
for the first time rolled over and into the arms
of the other boy both tired and trusting
and not at all tempted by the scrambled eggs

From issue #9: autumn/winter 2019 

About the Author
Bebe Ashley lives in Belfast. She is an AHRC-funded PhD candidate at the Seamus Heaney Centre for Poetry. Her work can be found in Poetry Birmingham Literary Journal, Poetry Ireland Review, Modern Poetry in Translation, Poetry Jukebox and The Tangerine. Her debut collection, Gold Light Shining, is forthcoming from Banshee Press in October 2020.