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“[Divine] didn't want to pass as a woman; he wanted to pass as a monster. He was thought up to scare hippies. And that's what he wanted to do. He wanted to be Godzilla. Well, he wanted to be Elizabeth Taylor and Godzilla put together.” - John Waters
 
in my dizzier moments I think
that I’d have been much happier
if I’d spent my teenage years
in some ‘70s hell-scape
of neon porno booths, bad hair,
and long felt coats with caps
on any woman old enough to vote.
 
I’d have been okay, I think
in those moments,
if I’d been close to some discreet
and queer community, drag queens
and other freaks. the arty types
of X-rated and obscene cinema,
filthy books and nouveau poetry
like scrawls on toilet walls.
 
naive child of the ‘90s and early ‘00s,
I see myself back then, the ‘70s,
in open-necked and lime green shirt by day,
my jacket brown leather,
my hair a pompadour,
a cigarette between my lips,
a pair of yellow-lensed glasses
conveying gentle seediness.
 
and then by night a pair of heels -
the reinforced kind for men -
peroxide piled locks, fake tits;
a walking hate-crime risk
in polka-dotted blouse.
 
I’d be, simply, divine.
still ignorant of maths and all that’s logical,
but effervescent in the explication of
the weird and true and artful self.