Royally flushed

"It had to be red!", the drag queen said,

extending two paint-splattered sleeves.

"How else could we say to the men in the grey,

it's not only women who bleed?"

The audience roar, feet rumble on board,

their eyes a flurry of embers.

"So they move us along but we still sing our song,

and our story they'll always remember!"

Later on when alone, cleansing wipes to dethrone,

flushed neck and melting face,

Queenie catches the eye of the person inside

and the mirror clouds up with disgrace.

"Here I am in a wig, feeling morally big.

Who am I to seek all this glory?"

"I can walk like a man, I can talk like a man.

Tomorrow's a privilege story."

Cheekbones descend, lashes fly to the bin,

then a pause and shift in the shame...

Suited or gowned, in his home or in town,

her fight and her message remain.

"Just unglue, don't be blue, my intentions are true

if I'm using my voice for good reasons."

Then around from the bend, like a film at its end,

peered a troupe of clowntankerous heathens.

"Get yer arse over 'ere. You know I can hear

what you think even when you're asleep.

"We're a family, us, and in blood we trust.

If it's red then we're all just as cheap!"