A Poem About Sex

The campy comic does his best
To make the viewers laugh again
With stories of the way he dressed
In Mother's clothes when he was ten.
A titter from the audience;
They've heard this old routine before.
Oh, don't you start to get the sense
That gender-bending is a bore?

It seemed that all we had to do
Was share the lip-stick and the pants
And suddenly we would break through
Into a limitless expanse
Where men were women, women men,
The ceiling had become the floor,
The sky the limit; that was then.
Now gender-bending is a bore.

A rainbow is a pretty sight
But nature makes them rather rare.
We thrill to watch a bird in flight
But not much happens in the air.
Oh my dear drag queen, do not knock,
There's nothing much behind that door.
This might come as an awful shock
But gender-bending is a bore.

When Jilly Jackson, PhD,
Has finished putting bullets through
The myth of masculinity
What is there left to say or do
In Gender Studies seminar?
Can that dead horse be flogged some more?
Though Grandma thought it quite bizarre
Now gender-bending is a bore.

Although we've had a century
Of your subversive bacchanals
Boys still play soldiers, stubbornly,
And little girls still reach for dolls.
So you've thrown out the pink and blue--
What have you found to swap them for?
Nothing you make is really new--
Your gender-bending is a bore.

NOTE: Some smart-aleck will probably point out that the convention of pink for a girl and blue for a boy is a relatively recent phenomenon, that blue used to be the colour for girls because of associations with the Virgin Mary, etc. etc. Yes. Yes. I do know all this. It's completely beside the point.