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)