Jess Murrain

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Boys in tuxedos

crowd the ground floor flat. Boys in tuxedos feeling most boy-like on carpet, the fabric bobbles up like oysters. Boys in tuxedos stand beside wicker, album sleeves bent at the tip. I’m telling you lads outside my lawn is rented. Magpies are on the scavenge. Again, beaks. Mesh into primal mud. On the tele, Blair is making my mother party like it was 1997 & on the tele I’m running as fast as I can to please my parents. Like I give a fuck I’m going to take my shoes off boss
ever taken shoes off in a poem?

Boys in tuxedos know freedom is a white word & possession is a pastime of the rich. Boys in tuxedos invite me to watch Arsenal in a pub round the corner
they answer in monosyllabic bow ties to how are you, boy where have you been? 
Boy loving towards me in tux spending time orienting between jostles of wit & pints of Guinness. Once inside with my lot, I reject eulogy I refuse to weather
ruling class wanking, we are a nation forced to sweep up hush hush cheese & wine gatherings. In case you weren’t wondering black boys are boys in tuxedos o boy
he is turning to face me gently the boy reading gently the boy holding

when we say goodbye I’m a boy in this fantasy. I’m moving through gender in service to your thinking & trying to reach you at the far end of the table. If we were opening here, we’d be a suitcase filled with gold, flush in this clip boy I beg you press pause. We dream we make motive. Bring back the skipping machine.

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JESS MURRAIN is an interdisciplinary creative whose work spans poetry, performance, and film. She is co-founder of Theatre with Legs, a queer, experimental live art company and alumnus of Southbank New Poets Collective. Her pamphlet is One Woman-Horse Show (Bad Betty Press.)