The Man in Drag

There was a man in drag, dancing on a stage.

His bra was evident, his frilly skirt flapped

like a flag of submission, his lacy underwear a scandal.

He had bells upon his hands.

As he gyrated and pranced, the amused audience

laughed emptily, the sound of a stone plummeting

into the deep depths of the ocean to never be seen again,

their faces stretched beyond belief, all silently judging,

taking mental notes dictated by the decorum

of “modern” behavior, as they saw fit.

The man in drag bothered none and was bothered

none by the audience’s critique. He continued

to shake and stir, holding his head up high, chin

protruding, dancing as if the earth would open

and swallow him whole if he did not.