By Joe Eldridge
Halloween, the legal day for drag,
Bob as Blu and me as Josey Brick
would come out of our chrysalis
as either Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders,
or twins of That Girl!
One year we leathered up as biker chicks,
whorish make-up by Maybelline,
slutty clothes by Fredericks of Hollywood,
size 14 stilettos from a State St. store
catering to big-foot women.
Last time we dressed up, Blu cindarella'd
into a Dynasty Linda Evans,
poufy shoulders, cinched waist,
glitz & glitter a la Nolan Miller
hooks up with Bob Mackie,
and I was Liz from her chrysanthemum
hairdo phase, after both Dick Burton marriages
but before the short-lived one
to the Republican senator
who called her fat
on a Barbara Walters special.
And so in full
Miss Continental quality drag
fingers snapped us past the velvet ropes.
We vogued for the gay tabloid paparazzi
Stonewall fierce
relishing the power of lipstick & powder,
pumps with chutzpah.
Long-stemmed cocktails magically
appeared in our press-on-nail hands.
A sudden gunshot reverberated
around the crowded dance club.
I prayed please dear lord don't
let me be photographed in a paddy wagon
without a coordinating wrap
and Jackie Oh shades
to cover my face.
Turns out it was only Blu's elastic belt
snapping off. We looked down to the floor
at its sequined mess circling her feet.
Had to grab our birdseed tits
and laugh a little bit.
Joe Eldridge has two really gay jobs: flight attendant for a major airline flying mainly to Europe, and adjunct faculty at Columbia College Chicago teaching writing and speech.