More than the rest of the class, 
we took the homework seriously; 
that’s why they called us fags. 
Better to take that F, we thought, 
than risk a poor grade in Health. 

You, cradling our newborn, 
its plastic skin as light as yours. 
Me, fake bottle in hand, 
feeding her so she wouldn’t cry. Not easy 
at our all-boys school. 

This, long before we met a classmate 
raised by two fathers. 
Or learned Ms. Maxwell had a girlfriend. 
Or that our bully, 
with his husband, adopted a little boy. 

Bio: Jonathan Fletcher