The Man I Could Be

I sit behind the guy – a random man – I could be,

broad shoulders, peach fuzz, a hazel smolder,

curled hair dances at his nape as fabric drapes

across his torso, flat chested, more so

than mine could ever be, even with bindings. I plea

for our brains to swap places, just for a day,

so I could see what the boys and men around me

live like, their bodies, the life I never bore witness to.

but science doesn’t make miracles,

so I’ll stick to the empirical observation

to appease my fascination, yearning, for absolution.