Whispers chase me down the school halls:
“What kind of girl is called Matthew at all?”
“Her parents so woke, just a name to provoke.”
As if my name is no more than a joke,
Then tucked inside of my locker door,
an invite appeared I had not seen before:
“Come one and come all, if your name is Matthew,
Clapham Common is waiting for you!”
The park sprang to life with confetti and song,
Like moons in the air big balloons bobbed along.
Two boys approached, showing off their tattoos
asking which one was nicer, the green or the blue?
Before I could think or give them a clue,
a sneeze exploded inside me— “A-choo!”
“Matt, my dear lady, are your allergies at you?”
As a caped boy bowed down to hand me a tissue.
“Maybe,” I smile, “Am I smelling cashews?”
“Oh, probably yeah, roasting on the barbecue.”
A penguin waddled up, scratching his chin,
“Hello there young Matt, so glad you popped in!”
A banana came skidding and fell with a smack,
then sprang up at once, brushing dirt off her back.
She waved both her arms as she summoned the crowd:
“Come on, fellow Matthews, sing out loud and proud!”
The taunts at school, the mocking, the stares,
they faded away in the carnival air.
As queer becomes wow, and wow becomes true,
I laugh and I roar: “I’m Matthew too!”