Lies they like to tell us
They are what she calls her smalls,
tucked into the washer in spite
of protest that she will ruin
bras socks leggings tights
bustiers briefs garters
knickers bikini-pants g-strings
thongs boy’s cut anklets thigh highs
and I wonder how they are still
while the larges are
boob tubes tank tops camisoles
mini-skirts brazilian cut jeans
wanting to show more
and I want to show more too but
as I am unwilling to enter
this conversion out of shyness or prudery
I stick to turtlenecks,
as turtlenecks are safer.
© Christy Frisken
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I wait for her in the garden, sucking fretfully on one cigarette after another. A stream of smoke drifts silently.
After a night of drinking, a plan: me, them, some costumes and a forest north of Pemberton.