In terms of cottaging

by Amaan Hyder

Your friend took his lunch,
down to the public toilets.
That’s gross, I said. But then I said
I wasn’t coming over
because I had a throat infection.
At school F and I played a game
where F would stand on a toilet
and I would guess which stall he was in.
P copied the Eternal album for me.
He asked me, Don’t you love
‘Don’t Make Me Wait’?
At home a tap was opened
downstairs. My parents argued.
They should not have been married
but were. It was arranged.
It was better to cut to the chase
and work at a relationship.
I imagined what might have been for them.
Briefly, in a toilet. Young, flush
and done with each other.
No hello goodbye. Not even sandwiches.
Just the life of a fuck
or the fuck of one’s life,
bracketed by cubicle walls,
by the chorus of urinals
open-mouthed and unsurprised.