In junior high we were all neuter.
We were neuter beyond our sex.
We were plain and rubbed smooth in all we did.
Differences began to grow on us
like the first gentle pimples
and whispers of moustache.
Now, though, on subways and sometimes passing by
on the old streets here I see what we've all become.
We have forked and split like the hydra we studied.
Big boys now, women waisted and married,
angry career homosexuals, or fallen into sales and smarminess,
gone crazy or to California,
been addicted, diagnosed, driving, playing the game,
meeting the man, stooped with shame.
Then I think it's not the X caps,
the tattoos, china patterns, prescriptions,
the muscles, the nicotine patch,
the three hundred dollar shoes or the virus.
It's just the size.
And we were never neuter, always lugging the tiny germ with us,
the difference between and or or.