dancing
with
the transvestite


everything
seemed fine:

hot legs,
lips

except her
his adam's apple,
bobbing

on
the dance floor

and I eyed
it

carefully

and waited out
the song

as things
began to dawn

in my
scotch-sunken

brain


and my brother,
beer slopping in one
hand,

leaped onto the dancefloor
and took her
him

as partner

and I found
a reason

to go take

a
piss.

Brad Evans

If you've any comments on this poem, Brad Evans would be pleased to hear from you.