by Jennifer Hanks
Even when their guy-liner’s winged (not smudged).
Even when their lips shine like
Emerald City discount moonstone.
They’re all frocked out (sometimes).
If they’d been a cis boy (sign of the cross),
they’d be downright sissy—
boy and girl crazy
(shake the can and watch it fizz).
As it stands, they’re dykey, muscle-teed
over tin. Poppy behind their ear
(lion-colored & wilting),
inhaling Ozma’s cigarette smoke.