I say that
my ankles are hairy
because I'm too cheap to buy razors
that don't chew through my skin,
but there's more.

I am a drag king in women's clothing,
a secretly moustachioed charlatan,
a smooth-faced plucker of offending facts,
a sporter of the ruse of depilated armpits,
a wearer of sandals, weak understudies
for wingtips with metal-plated heels.

Painted toenails only highlight the transgressions
of the brain of my flesh of this body
that refuses.

The burly man with nectarine nails
is a clown.