I saw them making out， Sheila whispers

    from the stall next to mine. We're standing¹，

    hidden from each other on opposite sides

    of the same cold wall. I imagine

    her brother's hand surprising itself

    inside some girl's sweater， small hairs jittery²

    along the map of her neck. Her eyes were shut.

    I open mine wide， lean closer.

    She was making small noises， like a bird.

    I form my mouth into an 0， press my lips

    against the door. He was licking her ear.

    The bow of my breath lingers，

    then disappears， I hate the ordinary

    boredom³ of my life， my cotton underpants，

    the sharp question of each hipbone. Hey，

    she says， knocking on the wall.

    I play with the lock， spitting its silver tongue

    into the waiting mouth of the door.

    What's your secret？