by Jennifer Hanks
I am the Tin Boy, yes it’s true.
Witness, I wash off my Dorothy sheen,
take the contacts out (eyes still mineral blue)
& expose my washboard ridges,
offer you the sexiness of my metal
to fleck inside your mouth.
(Witness, I’ll kiss you like a real boy would.)
Witness me ma’amed during our dinner date,
the emerald light magnifying your acne &
my oh-so-delicate hands.
Lean on me, Witness, in the alleyway,
my raw-puce-velvet heart
leaking sawdust on your tits.
Witness, call me good sport, shimmy off my suit
& excavate my girly blood bag.
Pin me, shove a silver slipper against
my throat to keep me honest.
(I’ll preen for you, I can’t help myself.)
Witness me tin cry until my boy-lashes melt:
No one, Polychrome, had to teach me this shame.