King of Pingers
![Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash[Image Description: Clear capsules filled with an assortment of heart shaped confetti, star cut-outs, and multi colored glitter.]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/56a7c5081c1210756e34f979/1545024709141-RT7Q9MFGGK1FXNKMOHJF/glittertablets.jpg)
pinger: /ˈpɪŋə/, n. inf.: A tablet of the illegal drug MDMA, commonly known as ecstasy.
the king of the pingers
is never less than spangled
silly stepping down the years
though the years stay slippy
cutting shapes like sunken continents
escorted out the disabled loos
the king of the pingers
pours paint stripper all over your juice bar raves
point-to-point through the city, starry tar in the mouth
not to be disturbed when it’s on and it’s on now
not having come here in order to be well
the king of the pingers
wants boys though they don’t please him still he wants them
google searching how to get home like he has one
carpet biter creeper switching sim-cards on the comeup
huffing mad sacks of the fumes which you run on
manhandled so much and never once got touched
the king of the pingers catches drag queen dick in Ubers always
the king of the pingers seven-league stomps through mayday ash
the king of the pingers cries out to no-one, not wanting to stop
the king of the pingers
reaches out and touches both sides of the night
that’s squats sidled through, bugs up in the blood
war zone bopping just to feel it, boys boys
freaking on the ballroom floor spit slick
lung bust just to catch a breath of the real
like u could starve for it easy, boys wild out
and the kid stays crooked, silly wonky
hot sweat cooking on the collar bone
the king of the pingers
could never be a gin tasting weekender gay
could never be a no chems zone sort of gay
could never be an isn’t this nice sort of gay
could only be a freaking out the clientele gay
no touching no kissing get it gone sort of gay
a backed away from wtf are you ok gay
the king of the pingers
could cook an egg in what he’s sweat off (but won’t eat for days now)
cannot be touched (but who’d want to touch that)
surely cannot be well (he is so very well now)
the king of the pingers
cannot get away with it all anymore
the king of the pingers
like the mantis keeps his dear ones close though his head’s chewed
in slums where suns come up so wrong it gets the sky bent
graveyard snorting gaspipe sucking just to try it
bed for the night is where it breaks down, but it never
limbs twitching weird out the vibe like they shouldn’t
doing it again in the lock-in though he shouldn’t
doing it again in the daylight though he shouldn’t
doing it again on the tuesday though he shouldn’t
the king of the pingers
is not gay as in reach out to me
but queer as in i can’t feel my face
the king of the pingers
has no way out but out out
no way out but further in
Matt Broomfield is a poet, activist and writer currently living and working in Rojava, in solidarity with the socialist-feminist revolution there. His debut fiction pamphlet was published in 2018 by Dog Section Press, his poetry has been shared across London by Poetry On The Underground, and he is a Foyle Young Poet of the Year.