you went xx at cell division time
and yet you pretend to be a man

no skirts for you;
i guess you 'wore the pants in your house'

high tops instead of heels.
er- balls of steel instead of breasts of silicone.

you wake. you work. you sit. you stare.
dark eyed with worry and an inherited insomnia.

you chopped up your tresses and all of your dresses
and give them to the altar of duty.

sitting in vinyl covered seats chewing pencil stubs
doing the algos; working out the math.
no phone- cause of his pacemaker
no noise because they sleep light.

no placements; because you're head nurse.
no life; just work and work.

happiness is a certain state of mind.
and you've said that time and time again.
are you? or aren't you then...

neutered on the edges of youth
vitality and virility
or is fecundity a better word?

every word you say slaps me in the face.
spit bullets of steel and bile.

the last time i saw you
that day i'll always remember
a muffled sigh as you
pluck

the hundreth grey hair off your dandruffed scalp.