Matt continues to speak as I eat.
“Let’s not argue in the lunch hall anymore.
Let’s leave these silly arguments in the past.
Our whisper arguments are the kinda thing
that’ll have people asking if we’re a couple.”
Matt says “couple”
as if it’s the worst thing imaginable,
as if us being a couple
would ruin our final years of school,
would cast a shadow across
the bright path to his straight-passing future,
would bring shame on his religious family,
and see him cast out for shame,
as if being perceived
to be in a couple with me
is a threat to everything
that matters to Matt.
He weighs his words before he speaks again.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Kai.
I’m not being rude,
but your cane rows look busted.”
Matt’s short afro is always neat.
He keeps an afro comb
in his back right pocket.
It has a black, fist-shaped handle
and long, narrow metal tines.
“I know.” I swallow
my final mouthful of pizza crust,
my face hot with embarrassment.
“My mum didn’t have time
