The moment you're standing at the urinal

and you realize your underwear is on backward,
the fly is in the wrong place,
(or the right place, if you were in the stall sitting down,
instead of standing at the urinal
which is where you are).

You fumble around in there until your best friend
sidles up,
realizes you're having trouble finding your penis
and laughs--
makes a joke about tweezers
and a microscope.

And it's not like you can explain to him
that your boxers are backward
even though you've known each other since you were boys,
sharing a urinal in the neighborhood park
swordfighting,
and it's not until now that you think about how weird that was
and how weird it is that it wasn't weird
because it would totally be weird now,
wouldn't it?

You're already in the eleventh grade,
and boys aren't supposed to play like that
(with other boys)
anymore.

Those toys are for
the girls,
even though you've only been to second base,
that one time in the dark closet,
when your friends dared you during truth or dare
(and you can't back down from a dare,
and you don't want to anyway)
and you both sheepishly walked into the closet,
knowing that you wanted the lights to be on
because you had never seen what a girl
covers up with her shirt
and she had never seen
what you tuck into your swimsuit.

The bell rings and you're late for class,
so you fumble some more,
your friend still laughing
his ass off,
even though he knows you're bigger than him,
and you rush out without washing your hands
or saying goodbye to the memory
of swordfights and dark closets.