Noreen Ocampo
POETRY BY NOREEN OCAMPO
The Boys and I
The boys in my neighborhood crave violence today.
They tangle their bikes and bruise each other’s
shins with the tires. They laugh bright as metal
as they swarm me, their fingers trilling their rusty bells.
The boys shout for me the things they’ve learned
to shout at women, and I recognize their bodies
as I slip between them, swallowed in my older
brother’s clothes and my neck sweaty with his blue
cologne. We are not so different, the boys and I.
Here is their mistake: I have never been good
at being a woman. I understand their hunger.
Our small bodies are desperate to prove.