He/him like

During La Mercè
I wander the Gothic
Quarter, the heat
of bodies and 100%
cotton brushing
against the back
of my palm.
I pause
to take a video
of graffiti
my cousins say
is ugly.
One says:
I don’t understand
how someone
could deface
architecture
like that.
Some graffiti
is beautiful, I say.
Another asks:
How could graffiti
be pretty?
I take
another video, zoom
in on the EL—
zoom out
on EL COMO
and my brain goes:
HE/HIM LIKE
In the boutique
doorway, my jean
jacket with bisected pearls
for buttons.
In my bag: a black
T-shirt printed with a red
dragon poised
to strike,
las palabras
in English and
kanji printed
on the back,
I remember
my younger girl cousin
once told me:
Women are cuter anyways.
Why would anyone want
to be a man?
