The Drag Race Pentina Project
We had this ancient
ming vase, and it was just filthy, covered in dust, when mother walked by, hungry after a long day slaving away at another person’s house and she started to polish the vase. Now she was experienced at polishing things, even if they were ancient vases, but we didn’t think it a good idea for her to do it in her hungry state. The dust could wait, it was more important that mother lay down, and had something to eat. But mother knows best, and she knew that the vase needed to be polished. We couldn’t live like slovenly folk, with dust permeating every room. It was shameful to display the ancient vase in such an awful state. But hungry is as hungry does, and there was no way we could convince mother that the task could wait. We just went in circles, bringing up ancient arguments, until it felt like our Polish blood was getting the best of us. I was in favor of ignoring the dust, but there was no winning against mother. She took out her feather duster and set to work at the vase. Not but moments later her hungry stomach grumbled, knocking her hand askew as she polished the vase. It fell to the floor and mother wailed in anguish, lamenting the loss. It was gone with the ancients. It was ancient, dusty, mother’s favorite. We put it back together even though she was about to die, even if it wasn’t polished.
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Last night, I got bitten by a vampire.
Let it be said, that you can’t kill them by covering them in pitch and setting them alight. If you want fire, you wait for dawn to coax them out of the soft shade cast by the night. Now I’m not saying I was bitten by the vampire queen; or even that the vampire queen is a real thing. But I know it was a vampire; it was dark out--midnight-- and I was out trying to pitch a tent in my trousers. I knew Dawn was just around the corner, and she shouted, “You have ‘til dawn to pay for services rendered.” In the midst of the shouting, a drag queen could be heard through the walls, pitching jokes to an unreceptive audience. Inbetween the gaps of noise, I could feel a vampire right behind me. I could feel its fangs pressed against my neck that night. I had taken what I thought to be a lover, that very night, from Dawn’s wares, but it was actually a vampire after my blood. That’s how I know it wasn’t a queen, for queens don’t get me to pitch a tent. After, I couldn’t feel clean. I’d be cleaner dropped in a barrel of pitch then how I had been that night. Rooms away a drag queen made jokes, but I was waiting until dawn to burn away my shame for sleeping with a vampire. |
This section is dedicated to my poetry inspired by RuPaul's Drag Race. There's at least one poem per contestant in the completed project. All of the poems are written as pentinas.
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