by Suzán Jiván
Something of a paradox
capering around the stage
like overgrown teenagers
with smoke billowing on cue
microphones used as maypoles
never crossing over fingers splayed
legs bent and braced
becoming hidden under thick manes
kept in place
by straps beneath chins
as wigs detach
kicked and toed around
in the foreground
fans blowing
through thick white hair
muscle and panache
mixed with wisecracks
taken aback as too sassy
like rolled up masks
for Id companions...
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