The height of public intimacy for me used to be
being the younger partner in distrustful sex in public toilets
between drunken men and idiotic boys.
Mutually deceived about the effects of alcohol,
we fiddled with each other' bits through holes
men had made between the cubicle walls.
The married men always got the most attention,
Just like they did at home in different circumstances.
We further deceived ourselves that nobody knew where we were.
The mothers and wives in the town knew exactly what was happening,
but let it be, rendering it taboo, uncommentable on.
They were grimly glad to avoid drunken male fumblings.
I was never arrested. Nor was anybody I knew, there was no need.
When family values were about members guilt-tripping each other
into ever darker corners where neither could see, then nobody could trust the law,
nor could we seek help for poor mental health from the local social services.
The more powerful the family member, the more they could deny their jealousy
using spurious moral reasoning as their cover, whilst removing other peoples exits from them.
I have lived in places from which nobody was ever meant to retrieve themselves alive.