Thursday, 15 March 2012

Transvestite Cabaret

I once helped one of my best buddies spend his inheritance money. What he failed to tell me, prior to blowing the dosh, is that what I thought was a treat, was actually a loan. I had to pay his lottery for many years after he left the country, by way of payback. He had to leave the country. We were on self destruct and as hard as it was and although we were both very naughty boys when apart, we were even worse when we were together. The following is a recollection of a fairly standard day for he and I, around the summer of 1994. We didn't go looking for trouble and often found adventure, where others feared to tread. It was as strange, scary and perversely fun, as it sounds, believe me.

Transvestite Cabaret:

Camden Town.
Midweek afternoon.
Money to burn.
Danger yearns.
Debauched promise.
Never learn.

Hours later.
Necked the pills.
Drinking Fosters.
In a gay bar.
Pair of tossers.

Midget Madonna.
Transvestite cabaret.
Where is he?
Gone for a pee.
'Hours' pass.
And then we flee.

Cemetery church.
Scaffold climb.
Can he fly?
He may die!
I don't care.
I'm too high.

Sun rise.
Crawl home.
Is this fun?
Or are we dumb?
Puppet show.
But sleep won't come.

© Paul David Hogan 2012

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