Samuel keyed-in his security
alarm's four-digit code,
closing his office for the weekend.
He tightly clutched his
chestnut leather briefcase,
before hurrying to catch
the first train home.
Conceding to the defeat of his
heavy-framed tortoise-shell
Armani glasses while they
cut into the bridge of his nose;
Samuel unlocked his apartment door,
greeted Madge, his cat,
and then kicked off
his alligator shoes.
It was no secret at work that he was gay,
but their jaws would drop if they ever found out
he spent his weekends dancing in skin-tight dresses,
as a British woman named Samantha Fox.
Samantha had existed just as long as
Samuel had known that he was queer.
She came to life, one magical day when he
looked in a mirror but instead of his reflection,
she appeared.
He turned up the speakers,
blasting Aretha and Babs,
as he sat down to paint.
Priming his face for cake,
he glued down his eyebrows,
then let Samantha take the reins.
She sipped on a gin on tonic,
as she applied foundation
then contoured her face.
Within minutes, Samuel disappeared,
and Samantha sat in his place.
False eyelashes and acrylic nails
were the final touches to her look.
Samantha zipped herself into
a revealing royal blue dress,
then let her six-inch stiletto heels
carry her off into the night.
