The house lights dim.
The sun snaps on.
We hear the opening notes of ‘I Will Survive’...
Priscilla Peacock,
drag queen par excellence,
makes a spectacular entrance,
(teetering on three inch heels)
along the veranda railing.
She turns a glittering head toward us,
her eyelids dripping mascara.
Her cathedral train reaches
meters behind her -
a thousand jeweled eyes
glinting in the light.
Every now and then
she fluffs out her feathers
with the careless abandon
of a Marilyn Monroe.
Then, as the music reaches its final crescendo,
she wraps her wings
around her shoulders
and saunters off.
The young tree-ferns
watching from the front row
uncurl in erotic response.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/peacock-story-11-priscilla-queen-of-peacocks/
