For god so loved the world he traced it, and traced it
until the outside lines became dark

He wrote the hearts of young boys
into the margins of a topless swimming pool
then asked them not to look

Bubbling up from god’s wrist – a cupped hand
full of spring water, lifting weightless breasts
to the lips of these women

These women who do seem happier with their bodies
as if floating on a moon with no men. No need
for support. I’ve spoken with friends

who are women and no one is mad at us directly
More at privilege. I keep my neck still
as one of the boys in my care

has just seen his first pair of breasts go diving off the board
I tell him that women can have their tops off
anywhere men can in this city

He says that seems more fair. I envy his long life, full of
worsening. I try to shield my eyes, but they are widening
starting to get pointy in the middle

I turn my head to the line at Tube Rentals, where topless women
are being gawked at by boys like me, boys like me are offering
to hold their inflatables, saying how awful it must be

having boys like me gawk at them constantly. All the boys
are like me, with places inside they can’t reach
I watch the young ones strap on their goggles – some

have never even cut their hair. They dive to the bottom
of the springs, then come up screaming that they’ve touched it