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Poem

Firstly the alligator belt has to go.
The highly polished pearl handled pistol
should not be on my slim hips 
in a kindergarten.
I’m swearing of sugar and rum.
Blue suede shoes were never that cool anyway,
I have left several pairs at the back of a thrift shop
with a five dollar bill.
Wearing shades in February is not working for me anymore.
I’ve taken off the tassels of my dude cowboy shirt.
I have moved into Ohio
filling every available space with my yellowing soul;
have filed my fangs down to the size of gummy bears.
We (my huge prosthetic breasts and I),
have joined a Pentecostal church
and now babble eloquently in an angelic tongue
only fully known to rabid squirrels.
Constant prayer has turned my anal eruptions
into pure helium
and am now gainfully employed blowing up party balloons 
in a local Dollar Store.
When the good Lord calls me I will be found
balancing precariously on the head of a pin
at last fully masked and surgically prepared for 
my heavenly colonoscopy.

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