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This will be my first poetry write up. I may node a whole bunch and I may not. Opinions via /msg or email are appreciated.

The drag queen who worked the grill
and lugged around a shatterproof bottle of cheap whiskey
like a child carrying a baby doll
is always here.
Today she brought out her scrapbook
bringing moans from her co-workers
(the jaded motherfuckers)
She opened the book and I was instantly mesmerized
the photographs of long gone drag queens
from the fifties and before
in the silver gelatin surreal of black and white
Those scenes in ballrooms
heaven must look something like that
and then, abruptly, the photos changed to color
Viet Nam
where there is no room for chiffon and high heels.
There were no more pictures after that
she said there was nothing worth remembering
after that, after then
The book slammed shut
and she took focus
on the bottle again.

(c) 2000 Brian Of (that's me so don't get your panties in a wad)

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