Drag Queen Rapper
I keep writing what should I do?
What should I do?
After all you’re not the only fool.
After all, you are the only you.
This is how it has always been done.
No more laughing, no more fun.
I’ll tell you what discouraged me the most.
This gene pool party…
being thrown without a host.
No stand up stand in at the picnic tables.
No Father Christmas to say,
just pack up your fruitcake and your labels.
This could have been my play…on words.
An an aging broad with a scrapbook.
Set at a home where the fairy tales are obscured.
Spinning like a warped LP
Irish drinking songs skinned and blurred.
What isn’t there to complain about?
Life like the Walton’s on acid.
Grandma’s homemade Kahlua diet…
buxom, bloated and filled with stout.
Flash forward Act One
Tomboy gone astray
Prodigal daughter’s mudslinging
Lost sons felony days
eldest sibling, halter tops, blow-jobs
the swallowing of words gone wrong.
There is something to be said for
free firewall protection.
A family of viruses
connected by duct tape and super glue.
Drag Queen rapper and white girl poet.