Haraam

Haraam

You’d draw out the necessary patience

to stay, watch, and conquer

the tin man; a personal allusion  

of the vexed macho in drag.

Your body oozed contemplating

the giving of pleasure.  You knew

how to bend, break, and subdue. 

At the end of the night you were

on top of the most manly queen

in the show.  Your only fault

was that incessant need to talk.

Your audience was less than four. 


So, when you invented that bit 
about a cowardly lion you were

one witness short and I got to give

the hundred lashes and hang the sign: 

Drug Dealer, Police Mafia,

Bugarron de Mala Muerte.