Fuck Yeah Queer Poetry!

Vida: I wonder who came up with the expression “hit the road.” I mean, it was obviously some Neanderthal man. No woman would inject violent undertones into a phrase that describes driving.

Noxie: You know what, Vida? You're right! He probably coined “pound the pavement” as well!

Chi-Chi: And all this nonsense about cars being women es loco. I think men are more like cars: They leak, they struggle to get going, and they guzzle fuel.

Noxie: I've certainly had to deal with a few leaky Chevrolets in my time!

Vida: Well, darlings, as Louise says, “You get what you settle for.”

Noxie: But some women didn't settle for that. Some men start off as limousines and then turn into the cars you see at the vehicle graveyard. What should those women do?

Vida: Get a bus pass!

Chi-Chi: Mamas, where are we going?

Vida: The Golden City, dear.

Chi-Chi: As in heaven?

Vida: As in San Francisco.

Noxie: Vida, remind me again why we're taking this trip?

Vida: Because, pumpkin, I need a break from New York and the ordeal of having to walk past Trump Tower every day. Think of this trip as a political detox.

Chi-Chi: I'm thinking of dyeing one of my wigs the same colour as Trump's hair.

Noxie: Chi-Chi, stop trying to make blonde happen! It's not going to happen.

Chi-Chi: Oh, yeah? Well, I hope you maintain the hair down below better than that nappy 'fro you got on ya head.

Vida: Come on now, ladies. Play nice.

Noxie: What's the itinerary?

Vida: Fleetwood Mac are playing at the Chase Centre on Saturday night. And yours truly got us tickets.

Noxie: (singing) Players only love you when they're playing!

Chi-Chi: Ain't that the truth!

Noxie: I just hope we don't run into any of those weird gay Trump supporters!

Vida: Dieu nous en garde!

Noxie: I mean, I understand that some fags have a thing for Mitt Romney. He's a zaddy.

Chi-Chi: I prefer his hijos, Matt and Tagg! What I wouldn't do to be inside that sandwich! Oh, Dios mío!

Noxie: And what exactly happens in this fantasy?

Chi-Chi: Well, you girls know I like it rough. So maybe they start off by throwing me on the bed and calling me names.

Noxie: Like what?

Chi-Chi: Like a “dirty little democrat” or a “pathetic little snowflake.”

Noxie: A dirty little democrat who needs to be punished?

Chi-Chi: Exactly!

Vida: Oh, ladies, you always find a way to lower the tone. Can't we try and have an intellectual conversation?

Chi-Chi: You picked the wrong queens for that!

Noxie: Speak for yourself! Anyway, what are we doing on the Sunday?

Vida: We're attending a fundraiser for Kamala Harris.

Noxie: Wait a minute, wasn't this trip supposed to be a political detox?

Sister Edwards beckons me,

We step into her room,

“Every sinner,” she begins,

“Is bound to meet their doom.”

“And let me tell you this,” she adds,

“Hell is cruel and wild,

If I were you, I'd meet a girl,

Get wed & have a child.”

“I simply can't,” I say to her,

“'Cause, Sister, I am gay,

To build a family based on lies

Would only bring dismay.”

“I'll make this crystal clear,” she says,

“God does not like faggots,

And when you die, you won't be saved,

He'll leave you with the maggots.”

“I don't believe in God,” I say,

“Your words instil no dread,

And I am staying true to me

From now until I'm dead.”

“I cannot force a soul,” she says,

“To walk into his light,

But I have tried my very best,

Now get out of my sight.”

As I walk towards the door,

I sense her evil glare,

“One more thing,” I say to her,