Sunday, January 20, 2013

Sing-Song Swan-Song -A Poem

She speaks like a queen, but not
the one you’re thinking of.
Think less Elizabeth the First and
more Ru Paul.
Trailing sequins and incense she came
into this world;
Trailing sequins and incense she shall
leave this world;
A smiling, singing, jester in a dress,
poking the breeders who cursed her
and being poked by breeder’s curiosity,
like an impromptu photo shoot on 7th street
in Ybor, in gaudy purple and gold,
with Japanese tourists who thought she was a goddess.

She was a deity, both on stage and off
with the eyes of hundreds watching,
like a bitch in heat strutting around caged males.

But now there are no more songs, no more
laughs or playful (sharp) insults
or nights of kisses
and “come fuck me” glances.

The world will be a little less beautiful today
when the funeral march ends. 

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